TORIES 


GIFT  OF 


PASTIME    STORIES 


BY 


THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE 

AUTHOR  OF 

IN   OLE   VIRGINIA"    "ELSKET,  AND   OTHER   STORIES' 

UON  NEWFOUND  RIVER"  "AMONG  THE  CAMPS  " 

"TWO  LITTLE  CONFEDERATES"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  A.  B.  FROST 


NEW  YORK 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
1894 


Copyright,  1894,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rights  restrvtO,. 


f 


Y 


TO 

ALL  GOOD  STORY-TELLERS 

WHO  HAVE  SWEETENED  LIFE 
WITH  THEIR  HUMOU 


438921 


PEEFACE 


IT  used  to  be  the  custom  for  a  writer  on  coming 
before  the  public  to  address  a  word  to  the  "  gentle 
reader,"  a  custom  which  had  this  double  advantage : 
that  the  author  had  his  "  word,"  and  the  reader,  on  his 
side,  was  not  obliged  to  hear  it.  I  wish  now  to  avail 
myself  of  this  old  custom,  and  my  gentle  readers,  if 
such  there  shall  be,  may  take  advantage  of  their  priv 
ilege  also.  I  will  simply  say  that  no  one  will  be  as 
sensible,  of  the  demerits  of  these  stories  as  I  am  my 
self.  So,  my  "gentle  reader,"  we  agree  on  that  point 
at  least.  If  you  ask  me  why,  then,  I  wrote  them,  I 
will  say  truthfully,  because  I  was  asked  and  chose  to 
do  so.  Then,  why  did  I  publish  them  ?  Because  I 
found  a  publisher. 

There  are  some  good  stories  in  the  lot,  old  stories 
which  have  survived  for  generations — one,  I  am  sat 
isfied,  for  at  least  a  century — and  if  they*do  not  read 
well,  it  is  because  I  have  marred  them  in  the  telling. 
This  is  as  much  my  misfortune  as  yours ;  so  do  not 
complain,  when  I  have  tried  to  entertain  you.  The 


only  persons  who  have  that  right  are  my  friends, 
Major  J.  Horace  Lacy,  Connelly  F.  Trigg,  Polk  Mil 
ler,  Henry  W.  Hobson,  William  F.  Gordon,  Jr.,  and  a 
few  others,  who  told  me  stories  too  good  to  be  lost, 
whether  I  have  been  able  to  preserve  them  or  not. 

I  must  make  my  acknowledgments  to  "Porte  Cray 
on"  for  an  incident  in  "Rachel's  Lovers;"  and  if, 
"gentle  reader,"  I  can  excite  your  curiosity  so  far 
as  to  make  you  go  back  to  that  early  and  delightful 
chronicle  of  old  Virginia  life,  you  will  owe  me  a 
debt  of  gratitude  which  will  offset  all  my  deficien 
cies. 

THOS.  NELSON  PAGE. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

OLD  SUE 3 

HOW  JINNY  EASED  HER  MIND 10 

ISRUL'S  BARGAIN 23 

THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  THE  SURRENDER  OF  THE 

MARQUIS  CORNWALLIS 34 

WHEN  LITTLE  MORDECAI  WAS  AT  THE  BAR    .  41 

CHARLIE  WHITTLER'S  CHRISTMAS  PARTY     .     .  51 

HOW  RELIUS  "BOSSED  THE  RANCH"     ...  63 

THE    PROSECUTION    OF    MRS.  DULLET    ....      70 

ONE  FROM  FOUR 79 

THE  DANGER  OF  BEING  TOO  THOROUGH     .     .    86 
UNCLE  JACK'S  VIEWS  OF  GEOGRAPHY    ...    92 

BILLINGTON'S  VALENTINE 97 

SHE  HAD  ON  HER  GERANIUM  LEAVES  .     .     .110 

A  STORY  OF   CHARLES   HARRIS 117 

HE    WOULD    HAVE    GOTTEN   A    LAWYER     .       .       -121 
HOW    ANDREW    CARRIED    THE   PRECINCT  .       .       .    127 

"RASMUS" 143 


viii 

PAGE 

HER  SYMPATHETIC  EDITOR 149 

HE  KNEW  WHAT  WAS  DUE  TO  THE  COURT     .  160 
HER  GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S  GHOST  .     .     .     .168 

RACHEL'S  LOVERS 182 

JOHN'S  WEDDING  SUIT 198 

WHEN  THE  COLONEL  WAS  A  DUELLIST  .     .     .209 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE  MULE  AT  His  HEELS Facing  page     7 

HOW   JINNY   EASED   HER   MIND "  "14 

"' GOOD  EVE'NIN',  MARSE   SATAN '" "  "        32 

"'  I    IS   DE    SON    OF   DE   AMERICAN   REBELUTION  '  "  "  "         36 

"  '  HE    RIZ    JKS'  A   P'lNT,  JES'  ONE    P'lNT '  "       .       .  "  "         50 

"  '  I   HATE   GOT   A  DROP  OF  THE  IRISH  IN  ME, 

MESELF'" "  "60 

"  '  YOU   HAS   DONE    COMMIT    A    PENITENTIARY    OF 
FENCE '" "  "72 

BUYING   THE    WEDDING-RING "  "        84 

"  SOME   ONE   BEHIND   ME   SAID,  '  HOLD   ON  !'  "    .       .  "  "        90 

"  '  TAKE   OFF   YOUR   COAT  '  " "  "94 

"'I   FOUND   HER   A   BUNCH   OF  APPLE  BLOSSOMS'"  "  "      100 

"HE  WAS  AS  MELLOW  AS  AN  APPLE".  ...  "  "114 
"  '  YOUR  PA  NEVER  WOULD  STOOD  NO  SICH  THING 

AS  DAT'" "  "118 

'"EF  i  HAD,  I'D  'A'  GOT  ME  A  LAWYER'"  .  .  "  "124 

'"YOU  COLD?  I'LL  WARM  YOU'" "  "  134 

"'YOU  KNOWS  DEM  CRUEL  S'CIETY  ANIMALS  IS 

LOOKIN'  ROUND  ' " "  "    146 

'"WHICH   IS   THE   EDITOR?'"   .  "  "      156 


"HE  WAS   NOT  EXACTLY   A   VAGABOND"     .      .      .  Facing  page   162 
"  I    BECAME    GRADUALLY    CONSCIOUS    OP    A     PRES 
ENCE"     '<        "      178 

U'EF  YOU'S  A  RAT,  I'LL  KNOW  YOU'"     ...  "       "      196 

"  HE  LOOKED  AT  HIMSELF  SOLEMNLY  "  .     .     .     .  "       "      202 

"'i  WAS  IN  LINDMAN'S  BED'" "       "      218 


PASTIME    STORIES 


OLD   SUE 


1UST  on  the  other  side  of 
Ninth  Street,  outside  of 
my  office  window,  was 
the  stand  of  Old  Sue,  the 
u  tug  -  mule  "  that  pulled 
the  green  car  around  the 
curve  from  Main  Street  to 
Ninth  and  up  the  hill  to  Broad.  Between  her 
and  the  young  bow-legged  negro  that  hitched 
her  on,  drove  her  up,  and  brought  her  back 
down  the  hill  for  the  next  car  there  always 
existed  a  peculiar  friendship.  He  used  to  hold 
long  conversations  with  her,  generally  upbraid 
ing  her  in  that  complaining  tone  with  oppro 
brious  terms  which  the  negroes  employ,  which 
she  used  to  take  meekly.  At  times  he  petted 
her  with  his  arm  around  her  neck,  or  teased 
her,  punching  her  in  the  ribs,  and  walking 
about  around  her  quarters,  ostentatiously  dis- 
regardful  of  her  switching  stump  of  a  tail, 


backed  ears,  and  uplifted  foot,  and  threatening 
her  with  all  sorts  of  direful  punishment  if  she 
"  jis  dyarred  to  tetch  "  him.  "  Kick  me — heah, 
kick  me  ;  I  jis  dyah  you  to  lay  you'  foot  'g'inst 
me,"  he  would  say,  standing  defiantly  against 
her  as  she  appeared  about  to  let  fly  at  him. 
Then  he  would  seize  her  with  a  guffaw.  Or  at 

o 

times,  coming  down  the  hill,  he  would  "  haul 
off  "  and  hit  her,  and  "  take  out "  with  her  at 
his  heels,  her  long  furry  ears  backed,  and  her 
mouth  wide  open  as  if  she  would  tear  him  to 
pieces  ;  and  just  as  she  nearly  caught  him  he 
would  come  to  a  stand  and  wheel  around,  and 
she  would  stop  dead,  and  then  walk  on  by 
him  as  sedately  as  if  she  were  in  a  harrow.  In 
all  the  years  of  their  association  she  never 
failed  him  ;  and  she  never  failed  to  fling  her 
self  on  the  collar,  rounding  the  sharp  curve  at 
Ninth,  and  to  get  the  car  up  the  difficult  turn. 
Last  fall,  however,  the  road  passed  into  new 
hands,  and  the  management  changed  the  old 
mules  on  the  line,  and  put  on  a  lot  of  new  and 
green  horses.  It  happened  to  be  a  dreary, 
rainy  day  in  November  when  the  first  new 
team  was  put  in.  They  came  along  about 
three  o'clock.  Old  Sue  had  been  standing  out 


in  the  pouring  rain  all  day  with  her  head 
bowed,  and  her  stubby  tail  tucked  in,  and  her 
black  back  dripping.  She  had  never  failed 
nor  faltered.  The  tug-boy,  in  an  old  rubber 
suit  and  battered  tarpauling  hat,  had  been  out 
also,  his  coat  shining  with  the  wet.  He  and 
Old  Sue  appeared  to  mind  it  astonishingly 
little.  The  gutters  were  running  brimming 
full,  and  the  cobble-stones  were  wet  and  slip 
pery.  The  street  cars  were  crowded  inside 
and  out,  the  wretched  people  on  the  platforms 
vainly  trying  to  shield  themselves  with  um 
brellas  held  sideways.  It  was  late  in  the  af 
ternoon  when  I  first  observed  that  there  was 
trouble  at  the  corner.  I  thought  at  first  that 
there  was  an  accident,  but  soon  found  that  it 
was  due  to  a  pair  of  new,  balking  horses  in  a 
car.  Old  Sue  was  hitched  to  the  tug,  and  was 
doing  her  part  faithfully ;  finally  she  threw 
her  weight  on  the  collar,  and  by  sheer  strength 
bodily  dragged  the  car,  horses  and  all,  around 
the  curve  and  on  up  the  straight  track,  until 
the  horses,  finding  themselves  moving,  went 
off  with  a  rush.  I  saw  the  tug-boy  shake  his 
head  with  pride,  and  heard  him  give  a  whoop 
of  triumph.  The  next  car  went  up  all  right ; 


but  the  next  had  a  new  team,  and  the  same 
thing  occurred.  The  streets  were  like  glass  ; 
the  new  horses  got  to  slipping  and  balking, 
and  Old  Sue  had  to  drag  them  up  as  she  did 
before.  From  this  time  it  went  from  bad  to 
worse  :  the  rain  changed  to  sleet,  and  the  curve 
at  Ninth  became  a  stalling- place  for  every  car. 
Finally,  just  at  dark,  there  was  a  block  there, 
and  the  cars  piled  up.  I  intended  to  have 
taken  a  car  on  my  way  home,  but  finding  it 
stalled,  I  stepped  into  my  friend  Polk  Miller's 
drug  -  store,  just  on  the  corner,  to  get  a  cigar 


and  to  keep  warm.  I  could  see  through  the 
blurred  glass  of  the  door  the  commotion  going 
on  just  outside,  and  could  hear  the  shouts  of 
the  driver  and  of  the  tug-boy  mingled  with  the 
clatter  of  horses'  feet  as  they  reared  and 
jumped,  and  the  cracks  of  the  tug-boy's  whip 
as  he  called  to  Sue,  "Git  up,  Sue;  git  up, 
Sue."  Presently,  I  heard  a  shout,  and  then 
the  tones  changed,  and  things  got  quiet. 

A  minute  afterwards  the  door  slowly 
opened,  and  the  tug-boy  came  in  limping,  his 
old  hat  pushed  back  on  his  head,  and  one  leg 
of  his  wet  trousers  rolled  up  to  his  knee,  show 
ing  about  four  inches  of  black,  ashy  shin,  which 
he  leaned  over  and  rubbed  as  he  walked.  His 
wet  face  wore  a  scowl,  half  pain,  half  anger. 
"Mist'  Miller,  kin  I  use  yo'  telephone?"  he 
asked,  surlily.  (The  company  had  the  privi 
lege  of  using  it  by  courtesy.) 

"  Yes ;  there  'tis." 

He  limped  up,  and  still  rubbing  his  leg  with 
one  hand,  took  the  'phone  off  the  hook  with 
the  other  and  put  it  to  his  ear. 

" Hello,  central  —  hello!     Please  gimme  fo1 
hund'  an'  sebenty  -  three  on  three  sixt'-fo'- 
fo'  hund'  an'  sebent'-three  on  three  sixt'-fo'. 


Hello  !— Suh  ?  Yas,  suh ;  fo'  hund'  an'  sebent'- 
three  on  three  sixt'-fo'.  Street-car  stables  on 
three  sixt'-fo'.  Hello!  hello!  Hello!  Dat 
you,  street -car  stables?  Hello!  Yas.  Who 
dat?  Oh!  Dat  you,  Mis'  Mellerdin?  Yas, 
suh;  yes,  suh;  Jim;  Jim;  dis  JIM.  G-i-m, 
Jim.  Yas,  suh :  Jim,  whar  drive  Ole  Sue,  in 
Mis'  Polk  Miller'  drug-sto'.  Yas,  suh;  yas, 
suh.  Suh  ?  Yas,  suh.  Oh !  Mis'  Mellerdin, 
kin  I  git  off  to-night  ?  Suh  ?  Yas,  suh.  '  Mat 
ter '?  —  Ole  Sue  —  she  done  tu'n  fool ;  done 
gone  'stracted.  I  can't  do  nuttin  'tall  wid 
her.  She  am'  got  no  sense.  She  oon  pull  a 
poun'.  Suh?  Yas,  suh.  Nor,  suh.  Yas,  suh. 
Nor,  suh ;  I  done  try  ev'ything.  I  done  beg 
her,  done  cuss  her,  done  whup  her  mos'  to 
death.  She  ain'  got  no  reasonment.  She  oon 
do  nuttin.  She  done  haul  off,  an'  leetle  mo' 
knock  my  brains  out ;  she  done  kick  me  right 
'pon  meh  laig  — 'pon  my  right  laig."  (He 
stooped  over  and  rubbed  it  again  at  the  re 
flection.)  "  Done  bark  it  all  up.  Suh  ?  Yas, 
suh.  Tell  nine  o'clock  ?  Yas,  suh  ;  reckon  so  ; 
'11  try  it  leetle  longer.  Yas,  suh ;  yas,  suh. 
Good-night — good-bye !" 

He  hung  the  'phone    back   on  the  hook, 


stooped  and  rolled  down  the  leg  of  his  Breech 
es.     "  Thankee,  Mist'  Miller !     Good- night." 

He  walked  to  the  door,  and  opened  it.  As 
he  passed  slowly  out,  without  turning  his  head, 
lie  said,  as  if  to  himself,  but  to  be  heard  by  us, 
"  I  wish  I  had  a  hunderd  an'  twenty  -  five 
dollars.  I  boun'  I'd  buy  clat  durned  ole  mule, 
an'  cut  her  doggoned  th'oat." 


HOW  JINNY  EASED    HER  MIND 

UNCLE  BEN  WILLIAMSON  was  as  well  known 
in,  town  as  the  mayor  or  the  governor.  He 
was  an  "  old-time  darky,"  and  to  this  charac 
ter  owed  his  position,  which  was  a  good  one. 
He  had  been  "  Boy  "  about  law  offices  in  the 
Law  Building  ever  since  the  first  evening  some 
years  before  when  he  had  knocked  gently  at 
Judge  Allen's  door,  and  then,  after  a  tardy  in 
vitation,  had  slipped  slowly  in  sideways,  with 
his  old  beaver  hat  in  his  hand,  and,  having 
taken  in  in  his  comprehensive  glance  the 
whole  room,  including  the  Judge  himself,  had 
said,  apparently  satisfied,  that  he  had  heard 
they  wanted  a  boy,  and  he  wanted  a  place.  It 
was  an  auspicious  moment  for  the  old  fellow  ; 
the  last  "  boy,"  a  drunkard  and  a  thief,  had 
just  been  discharged,  and  the  judge  had  been 
much  worried  that  day  trying  to  wait  on  him 
self.  His  thoughts  had  turned  in  the  waning 
evening  light  to  his  home,  from  which  the  light 


11 

had  faded  for  all  time,  and  his  heart  was  soft 
ened.  The  old  lawyer  had  looked  Ben  over 
too,  and  been  satisfied.  Something  about  him 
had  called  up  tender  recollections  of  his  little 
office  at  the  old  Court-house  before  he  became 
a  successful  lawyer  and  a  celebrated  judge,  and 
when  his  best  friend  was  the  old  drunken  ne 
gro  who  waited  on  him,  "cleaned  up"  (?)  his 
room,  and  was  his  principal  client  and  most 
sympathetic  friend  and  counsellor  in  his  long 
love  -  affair  with  his  sweetheart,  the  old  colo 
nel's  brown-eyed  daughter.  He  had  just  been 
dreaming  of  her,  first  as  she  wore  his  first 
violets,  and  then  as  she  lay  for  the  last  time, 
with  her  head  pillowed  in  his  roses,  and 
her  white,  slender  hands,  whiter  than  ever, 
clasped  over  his  last  violets  on  her  quiet 
breast. 

He  had  recalled  all  the  sweet  difficulties  in 
winning  her ;  his  falling  back  into  dissipation, 
his  picking  himself  up  again,  and  again  his 
failure ;  and  then  the  lonely  evening  Avhen  he 
had  sat  in  front  of  the  dying  fire,  sad,  despair- 
i  ng,  and  had  wondered  if  life  were  worth  hold 
ing  longer;  then  old  William  slipping  in,  hat 
in  hand.  He  recalled  the  old  man's  keen  look 


12 


at  him  as  he  sat  before  the  fire  with  the  pis 
tol  half  hidden  under  the  papers  on  his  desk, 
and  his  sudden  breaking  of  the  silence  with  : 
"  Don't  you  give  her  up,  Marse  Johnny ;  don't 
you  nuver  give  her  up.  Ef  she's  wuth  havin', 
she's  wuth  fightin'  for;  an'  ef  she  say  ]S"o,  she 
jes  beginnin'  to  mean  Yes.  Don't  you  give 
her  up."  And  he  had  not  given  her  up,  and 
she  had  called  him  from  the  dead  and  had 
made  him.  He  would  not  have  given  the 
right  to  put  those  violets  in  her  calm  hands 
for  a  long  life  of  unbroken  happiness  with  any 
one  else.  So,  when  the  door  opened  quietly, 
and  Uncle  Ben,  in  his  clean  shirt,  time-browned 
coat,  and  patched  breeches,  slipped  in,  it  was 
an  auspicious  moment  for  him. 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  ?"  he  asked  him. 

"  From  old  Charlotte,  suh ;  used  to  'longst 
to  de  Bruces." 

"  Can  you  clean  up .?'' 

He  laughed  a  spontaneous,  jolly  laugh. 
"Kin  I  clean  up?  Dat's  what  I  come  to  do. 
Jinny  ken,  too." 

"  Can  you  read  ?" 

"Well,  nor,  suh,  not  edzactly.  I  ain't  no 
free-issue  nigger  ner  preacher."  The  shade 


13 

of  disappointment  on  his  face  counterbalanced 
this,  however. 

u  Do  you  get  drunk  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  sometimes." — Cheerfully.  "Not 
so  often.  I  'ain't  got  nuttin  to  git  de  whiskey. 
But  ef  I's  drunk,  Jinny  cleans  up." 

"Who  is  Jinny?" 

"  She's  my  wife." 

"  What  sort  of  a  woman  is  she  ?" 

"She's  a  black  woman.  Oh! — she's  a  good 
sort  o'  ooman — a  toler'ble  good  sort  o'  ooman, 
ef  you  know  how  to  git  'long  wid  her.  Sort  o' 
raspy  sometimes,  like  urr  wimmens,  but  I  kin 
manage  her.  You  kin  try  us.  Ef  you  don't 
like  us  we  ken  go.  We  'ain't  got  no  root  to 
we  foots." 

"  You'll  do.  I'll  try  you,"  said  the  judge ; 
and  from  that  time  Uncle  Ben  became  the  cus 
todian  of  the  offices.  He  was  a  treasure.  As 
he  had  truly  said,  he  got  drunk  sometimes,  but 
when  he  did,  Jinny  took  his  place  and  cleaned 
up.  Her  temper  was,  as  he  had  said,  certainly 
"  raspy."  Even  flattery  must  have  admitted 
this,  and  Uncle  Ben  wore  a  bandage  or  plas 
ter  on  some  part  of  his  head  a  considerable 
part  of  his  time;  but  no  one  ever  heard  him 


14 


complain.  "  Jinny  jes  been  kind  o'  easin'  her 
mine,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  questions. 

At  length  it  culminated:  one  night  Jinny 
•went  to  work  on  him  with  a  flat-iron  to  such 
good  purpose  that  first  a  policeman  came  in, 
and  then  a  doctor  had  to  be  called  to  bring 
him  to,  and  Jinny  was  arrested. 

Next  morning,  when  Jinny  was  sent  on  to 
the  grand  jury  for  striking  with  intent  to 
maim,  disfigure,  disable,  and  kill,  Ben  was  a 
trifle  triumphant.  When  the  justice  announced 
his  decision,  he  rose,  and  shaking  his  long  fin 
ger  at  her,  exclaimed,  "  Aye,  aye,  what  I  tell 
you?" 

"  Silence !"  roared  the  big  tipstaff,  and  Ben 
sat  down  with  a  puzzled  look  on  his  face. 

When  the  police  court  closed  he  went  up  to 
his  wife,  and  said,  in  a  commanding  tone: 
"Now  come  rlong  home  wid  me  an'  'have 
yourself.  I'll  teach  you  to  sling  flat-iron  at 
folks'  head !" 

The  officer  announced,  however,  that  Jinny 
would  have  to  go  to  jail — the  case  had  passed 
beyond  his  jurisdiction.  She  had  been  "  sent 
on  to  the  grand  jury." 

Ben's  countenance  fell.    "  Got  to  go  to  jail !" 


16 


he  repeated,  mechanically,  in  a  dazed  kind  of 
way.  "  Got  to  go  to  jail !"  Then  the  prison 
ers  were  taken  down  to  the  jail.  He  followed 
behind  the  line  of  stragglers  that  generally  at 
tended  that  interesting  procession,  and  he  sat 
on  a  stone  outside  the  iron  door  nearly  all  day. 

That  afternoon  he  spent  in  the  judge's  office. 
The  grand  jury  was  in  session,  and  next  day 
''  a  true  bill "  was  found  against  Jinny  Will 
iamson  for  an  attempt  to  maim,  disfigure,  dis 
able,  and  kill — a  felony.  The  same  day  her 
case  was  called,  the  first  on  the  docket. 

She  had  good  counsel.  She  could  have  had 
every  lawyer  in  the  building  had  she  wanted 
them,  so  efficiently  had  old  Ben  polled  the  bar. 
Bat  the  case  was  a  dead  open-and-shut  one. 
Unhappily,  the  judge  was  ill  with  gout.  The 
Commonwealth  called  Ben,  first  man,  and  he 
told  simply  the  same  story  he  had  told  at  the 
police  court  and  to  the  grand  jury.  Jinny  had 
always  had  a  vicious  temper,  and  had  often 
exercised  it  towards  him.  That  evening  she 
had  gone  rather  far,  and  finally  he  had  at 
tempted  to  remonstrate  with  her,  had  "  tapped 
her  with  his  open  hand,"  and  she  had  pounded 
his  head  with  the  flat-iron.  The  officer  was 


16 

called,  and  corroborated  the  story.  He  had 
heard  the  noise ;  had  gone  in  and  found  Ben 
unconscious,  and  the  woman  in  a  fury,  swear 
ing  to  kill  him.  The  surgeon  pronounced  the 
wound  one  which  came  near  being  very  seri 
ous;  but  for  Ben's  exceptionally  hard  head, 
the  skull  would  have  been  fractured  ;  as  it  was, 
only  the  outer  plate  of  the  frontal  bone  was 
broken.  He  had  known  several  men  killed  by 
blows  much  less  vigorous.  No  cross-examina 
tion  affected  the  witnesses.  Ben  had  evident 
ly  told  his  story  unwillingly.  The  jury  was 
solemn.  Earnest  if  short  speeches  were  made. 
The  judge  gave  a  strong  instruction  upon  the 
evil  of  women  being  lawless  and  murderous, 
and  the  jury  retired.  The  counsel  leaned  over 
and  told  Ben  he  thought  they  had  lost  the 
case,  and  the  jury  would  probably  send  his 
wife  up  for  at  least  a  year.  Ben  said  nothing. 
He  only  looked  once  at  Jinny  sitting  sullen 
and  lowering  in  the  prisoners'  box  beside  a 
thief.  Then,  after  a  while,  he  got  up  and 
went  out,  and  a  minute  later  slipped  in  again  at 
the  door  sideways,  and  making  his  way  over  to 
her,  put  an  orange— not  a  very  large  or  fresh 
one — into  her  lap.  She  did  not  look  at  him. 


17 

The  appearance  of  the  jury  filing  in  glum 
and  important  sent  him  to  his  seat.  The  clerk 
called  the  names  and  asked,  "  Gentlemen  of 
the  jury,  have  you  agreed  on  a  verdict?'' 
The  consumptive-looking  foreman  bowed,  and 
handed  in  the  indictment,  amid  a  sudden  si 
lence,  and  the  clerk  read,  slowly,  "  We,  the 
jury,  find  the  prisoner  guilty,"  etc.,  "  and  sen 
tence  her  to  confinement  in  the  penitentiary 
for  two  years."  Neither  Jinny  nor  Ben  stirred, 
nor  did  the  counsel.  He  was  evidently  consid 
ering.  The  judge,  in  a  voice  slightly  troubled, 
said  he  would  pronounce  sentence  at  once,  and 
asked  the  prisoner  if  she  had  anything  she 
wished  to  say.  She  rocked  a  little  and  glanced 
shyly  over  towards  Ben  with  a  sort  of  appeal 
ing  look — her  first—;  said  nothing,  looked  down 
again,  and  turned  her  orange  over  in  her  lap. 

61  Stand  up,"  said  the  judge ;  and  she  stood 
up. 

Just  then  Ben  stood  up  too,  and  making  his 
way  over  to  'her,  said,  "  Jedge,  ken  I  say  a 
wud  2" 

"  Why — ah — yes,"  said  the  judge,  doubtful 
ly.  "  It  is  very  unusual,  but  go  on."  He  sat 
back  in  his  arm-chair. 

2 


18 


"Well,  gent'mens,"  began  Ben,  "I  jes  wants 
to  say"  (he  paused,  and  took  in  the  entire 
court-room  in  the  sweep  of  his  glance) — "  I  jes 
wants  to  say  dat  I  don't  think  you  ought  to 
do  Jinny  dat  a-way.  Y'all  'ain'  got  nuttin  't 
all  'ginst  Jinny.  She  'ain'  do  nuttin  to  you  all 
—nuttin  't  all.  She's  my  wife,  an'  what  she 
done  she  done  to  me.  Ef  I  kin  stan'  it,  y'all 
ought  to  be  able  to,  dat's  sho'.  Now  hit's  dis 
a-way.  Y'all  is  married  gent'mens,  an'  yo' 
knows  jes  how  'tis.  Yo'  knows  sometimes  a 
ooman  gits  de  debil  in  her.  'Tain't  her  fault ; 
'tis  de  debil's.  Hit  jes  like  wolf  in  cows. 
Sometimes  dee  gits  in  de  skin  an'  mecks  'em 
kick  up  an'  run  an'  mean.  Dat's  de  way  'tis 
wid  wimmens.  I  done  know  Jinny  ever  sence 
she  wuz  a  little  gal  at  home  in  de  country.  I 
done  know  how  mean  she  is.  I  done  know  all 
dat,  an'  I  done  marry  her,  'cuz  she  suit  me.  I 
had  plenty  o'  urr  gals  I  could  'a'  marry,  but  I 
ain'  want  dem.  I  want  Jinny,  an'  I  pester 
her  tell  she  had  me.  Well,  she  meaner  eben 
'n  I  think  she  is ;  but  dat  ain'  nuttin :  I  satis 
fied  wid  her,  an'  dat's  'nough.  Y'all  don'  know 
how  mean  she  is.  She  mean  as  a  narrer-faced 
mule.  She  kick  an'  she  fight  an'  she  quoil  tell 


19 


sometimes  I  hardly  ken  stay  in  muh  house; 
but  dat  ain'  nuttin.  I  stay  dyah,  an'  when 
she  git  thoo  I  right  dyah  jes  same  as  befo',  an' 
I  know  den  I  gwine  have  a  good  supper,  an'  I 
ain'  got  to  pester  my  mine  'bout  nuttin.  Y'all 
done  been  all  'long  dyah,  'cuz  y'all  is  married 
gent'mens.  Well,  dat's  de  way  'twuz  turr  night. 
Jinny  been  good  so  long,  I  feared  she  got 
some'n  de  matter  wid  her,  an'  I  kind  o'  git 
oneasy,  an'  sort  o'  poke  her  up.  But  she  ain't ; 
she  all  right.  I  so  glad  to  find  her  dat  way,  I 
sort  o-  uppish,  an'  when  she  hit  me  I  slapped 
her.  I  didn'  mean  to  hu't  her ;  I  jes  hit  her  a 
little  tap  side  her  head,  so,  an'  she  went  all  to 
pieces  in  a  minute.  I  done  hurt  her  feelin's. 
Y'all  knows  how  'tis  yo'self.  Wimmen's  got 
mighty  cu'ious  feelin's,  ain'  like  chillern's  nor 
men's.  Ef  you  slap  'em,  dey  goes  dat  a-way. 
Dey  gits  aggervated,  an'  den  dey  got  to  ease 
dee  mine.  Well,  Jinny  she  got  mighty  big 
mine,  an'  when  she  dat  a-way  it  tecks  right 
smart  to  ease  it — to  smoove  it.  Fust  she  done 
try  broom,  den  cheer,  den  shovel,  den  skillet ; 
but  ain'  none  o'  clem  able  to  ease  her,  an'  den 
she  got -to  try  de  flat-iron.  She  got  to  do  it. 
Y'all  knows  how  'tis.  Ef  wimmen's  got  to  do 


20 


anything  dey  got  to  do  it,  an'  clat's  all.  Flat- 
iron  don'  hu't  none.  I  'am'  eben  feel  it.  Hit 
jes  knock  me  out  muh  head  little  while,  an'  I 
jes  good  as  I  wuz  befo'.  When  I  come  to  I 
fine  dee  clone  'rest  Jinny.  Dat's  what  hu't  me. 
Jinny  done  been  easin'  her  mine  all  dese  years, 
an'  we  'ain'  nuver  had  no  trouble  befo'.  An' 
now  y'all  say  she  got  to  go  to  de  pen' tent ia'y. 
How'd  y'all  like  somebody  to  sen'  you'  wife 
to  pen'tentia'y  when  she  jes  easin'  her  mine? 
I  ax  you  dat.  How  she  gwine  ease  her  mine 
dyah  ?  I  ax  you  dat.  I  know  y'all  gwine  sen' 
her  dyah,  gent'mens,  'cuz  you  done  say  you  is. 
I  know  you  is,  an'  I  'ain'  got  nuttin  to  say 
'bout  it,  not  a  wud ;  but  all  I  ax  you  is  to  le' 
me  go  dyah  too.  I  don'  want  stay  here  b'dout 
Jinny,  an'  y'all  ain'  gwine  to  know  how  to  man 
age  her  b'dout  me.  I  is  de  on'iest  one  kin  do 
dat.  Jinny  got  six  chillern — little  chillern— 
dis  las'  crap ;  she  didn'  hab  none  some  sevrul 
years,  an'  den  she  had  six.  I  gwine  bring  'em 
all  right  up  heah  to  y'all  to  teck  keer  on,  'cuz 
I  gwine  wid  her — ef  you  le'  me.  I  kyarn  stan' 
it  dyah  by  myself.  I  leetle  mo'  went  'stracted 
last  night.  Y'all  kin  have  'em,  'cuz  y'all  ken 
teck  keer  on  'em,  an'  I  kyan't.  I  would  jes 


21 


like  you  to  let  her  go  home  for  a  leetle  while 
'fo'  yo'  sen'  her  up,  I  jes  would  like  dat.  She 
got  a  right  new  baby  dyah  squealin'  for  her 
dis  minute,  an'  I  mighty  feared  hit  gwine  to 
die  widout  her,  an'  dat  '11  be  right  hard  'pon 
Jinny.  She  'ain'  never  los'  but  byah  one,  an' 
I  had  right  smart  trouble  wicl  her  'bout  dat. 
She  sort  o'  out  her  head  arter  dat  some  sevrul 
months,  till  she  got  straight  agin.  I  git  'long 
toler'ble  well  wicl  de  urr  chillerns,  but  I  ain'  able 
to  nuss  dat  new  one,  an'  she  squeal  all  night. 
I  got  a  ooman  to  come  dyah  an'  look  arter  it, 
but  she  say  she  want  Jinny,  an'  I  think  Jinny 
want  her — I  think  she  do.  Jes  let  her  go  dyah 
a  little  while.  Dat's  all  I  want  to  ax  you.1' 

He  sat  down. 

A  glance  at  Jinny  proved  his  assertion. 
Her  eyes  were  shut  fast,  and  with  her  arms 
tightly  folded  across  her  ample  bosom,  she 
was  rocking  gently  from  side  to  side.  Two 
tears  had  pushed  out  from  under  her  eyes, 
and  stood  gleaming  on  her  black  cheeks. 

The  counsel  glanced  up  at  the  judge,  whose 
face  wore  a  look  of  deep  perplexity,  and  then 
at  the  jury.  "  I  would  like  to  poll  the  jury," 
he  said. 


22 

The  clerk  read  the  verdict  over,  and  called 
the  first  name.  "  Is  that  your  verdict  ?" 

The  juror  arose.  "Well,  judge,  I  thought 
it  was ;  but "  (he  looked  down  at  his  fellows) 
"  I  think  if  I  could  I  would  like  to  talk  to  one 
or  two  of  the  other  jurors  a  minute,  if  it  is  not 
too  late.  My  wife's  got  a  right  new  baby  at 
home  herself  that  squealed  a  little  last  night, 
and  I'd  like  to  go  back  to  the  room  and  think 
about  it." 

"  Sheriff,  take  the  jury  back  to  their  room," 
said  the  judge,  firmly. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  returned,  and  the 
verdict  was  read : 

"We,  the  jury,  all  married  men,  find  the 
prisoner  guilty  of  only  easing  her  mind." 


ISRUL'S   BARGAIN 

HEIST  I  was  at  college  after  the  war, 
clothing  was  very  scarce ;  there  was 
not  a  dress  suit  in  college,  and  very 
few  new  suits  of  any  kind.  I  re 
member  my  best  coat  was  made  out 
of  an  old  cloth  skirt  of  my  moth 
er's.  Billy  Logan,  however,  tall  and 
blond,  was  a  swell,  and  in  his  third  year  he 
turned  up  with  a  brand-new  suit :  long  frock- 
coat,  lavender  trousers,  and  a  beaver  hat  that 
was  dazzling.  He  was  simply  "a  howler," 
and  caught  Miss  Mabel,  the  Doctor's  pretty 
daughter,  "  out  of  hand." 

"Isrul"  was  the  fiddler  of  the  town  (as 
black  as  your  boot),  and  though  he  could  not 
make  a  small  city  a  great  one,  he  could  play 
the  fiddle.  He  was  also  a  drunkard  and  a 
thief.  He  and  Billy  Logan  were  great  friends. 
He  considered  himself  a  swell  also.  But  the 
night  before  the  1st  of  April,  1869  (on  which 


24 

night  we  always  had  a  calathump,  followed  the 
next  night  by  "  a  ball"),  Isrul  was  sulky,  owing 
partly  to  a  recent  and  powerful  sermon  against 
fiddling,  by  the  Rev.  Amos  Brown,  and  partly 
to  a  difference  they  had  had  about  a  dusky 
"  sister  "  in  the  Rev.  Amos's  congregation,  in 
which  the  Rev.  Amos  had  come  off  victor. 
When  we,  as  usual,  approached  him  about  the 
music  for  "  the  ball,"  he  announced  that  he 
had  "  done  gin  up  fiddlin'  and  gone  to  seekin'." 
It  took  several  stiff  drinks  from  a  large  bottle, 
obtained  for  the  festivities  by  Billy  Logan, 
and  a  sight  of  Billy's  new  suit  to  soften  him. 
Billy,  a  little  mellow,  even  put  the  suit  on  to 
show  him  how  he  would  look  when  he  should 
lead  his  partner  up  the  floor  to  his  music.  Up 
to  the  top  of  the  room  he  swaggered,  turned 
with  a  swing,  shouted,  in  Isrul's  tone,  "  S'lute 
your  pardners,"  and  gave  a  long,  low  bow  as 
he  lifted  the  bottle  to  his  lips. 

Isrul's  countenance  relaxed.  "  Urah !"  he 
declared.  "  "Whar  meh  fiddle  ?  Ef  I  jest  had 
a  coat  and  pyah  o'  breeches  like  dem,  I  could 
outplay  Gabrul." 

A  few  hours  later  we  swept  the  sleep 
ing  town  like  a  cyclone  —  Billy  Logan,  in 


character,  as  the  devil  with  a  pitchfork,  lead 
ing. 

We  reached  our  rooms  about  three  o'clock 
A.M.,  pretty  well  tired.  As  Billy  flung  open  his 
door,  there  sat  Isrul  fast  asleep  in  his  arm-chair, 
with  the  empty  bottle  beside  him,  and  his  old 
basket  between  his  feet  well  filled  with  Billy's 
effects.  lie  had  been  overtaken  in  the  very  act. 
"Get  up  here!  I'm  going  to  kill  you  and  bury 
you,"  Billy  shouted.  He  seized  him  by  the  col 
lar  and  pulled  him  out  of  the  chair.  As  he  let 
him  go,  Isrul  fell  in  a  drunken  heap  on  the 
floor.  Billy  disappeared,  with  two  or  three 
fellows,  and  in  a  little  while  came  back  with  a 
bucket  of  paint  and  the  finest  coffin  from  Little 
Dole's,  the  undertaker's,  shop.  The  old  Doctor 
and  Little  Dole  both  declared  next  day  that  it 
was  burglary ;  but  I  think  they  took  an  extreme 
view  of  it.  Little  Dole  had  lost  his  front  door 
and  his  best  coffin,  and  "the  old Doctress,"  as  we 
profanely  called  the  Doctor's  wife,  was  excit 
ing  him  about  the  rape  of  her  greenhouse.  Any 
how,  Billy  got  the  coffin,  and  old  Isrul,  his  face 
painted  a  livid  blue,  and  his  chin  tied  up  like 
a  corpse's  with  one  of  Billy's  handkerchiefs, 
and  every  flower  from  the  old  Doctress's  green- 


26 

house  on  his  breast,  was  borne  out.  The  hall 
used  as  a  chapel  was  forcibly  entered,  and  "  the 
corpse"  was  borne  in.  Billy  officiated,  his 
devil's  head  poking  up  over  the  Doctor's  gown. 
He  had  the  Doctor's  very  voice.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  Doctor's  voice  which  startled  "the  corpse," 
but  anyhow  he  opened  his  eyes.  He  got  ashier 
under  his  coat  of  paint  as  he  fixed  his  gaze  on 
Billy's  horns.  The  devil  raised  his  fork. 

"Now  at  last  we  have  him  in  torment. 
What  shall  we  do  with  him?"  he  asked,  in  a 
terrific  voice. 

"  Damn  him !"  came  from  two  hundred 
throats. 

"  Light  the  fire,"  he  said.  He  turned  towards 
the  victim  and  brandished  his  pitchfork.  "  How 
many  hen-roosts  have  you  robbed  ?"  he  asked. 

Isrul's  jaw  worked.  His  eyes  were  popping 
out  of  his  head.  "  M-m-marse  Satan,  y-y-you 
ain'  gwine  back  befo'  de  war,  is  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Since." 

"  I-I  don'  know,  m-master ;  not  but  three, 
I  b'lieve." 

He  was  evidently  in  doubt. 

"  He  has  lied ;  record  it.  Add  three  hun 
dred  years  for  each  one  he  left  out." 


27 

There  was  an  awful  addition  with  sticks  on 
the  floor  at  the  head  of  the  coffin.  A  hundred 
throats  responded,  "  It  is  recorded."  Isrul 
groaned. 

"  How  often  have  you  been  drunk  ?" 

"I-I-I  don'  know,  master;  I  done  forgit," 
he  said,  seeking  safety  in  oblivion. 

"Add  two  hundred  years." 

It  was  added  on  the  floor. 

"  How  often  have  you  stolen  from  the  col 
lege  students,  particularly  from  that  pious, 
virtuous,  upright,  and  righteous  gentleman, 
Billy  Logan  ?" 

"I-I — 'bout  a  million  times,"  faltered  Isrul. 

There  was  a  groan  on  all  sides. 

"  lie  has  told  one  truth ;  take  off  two  min 
utes.  Heat  the  fire,  and  set  the  big  middle 
kettle  to  boiling." 

A  red  calcium -light  suddenly  lit  up  the 
scene,  turning  the  devil's  head  and  flowing 
robe  a  fiery  red.  He  brandished  his  pitchfork 
and  advanced.  With  a  yell,  Isrul  sprang  from 
the  coffin.  The  devil  caught  him,  and  they 
clinched;  and  the  two  rolled  around  together 
in  a  medley  of  coffin,  legs,  chairs,  pitchforks, 
and  devil's  horns,  Isrul  veiling  and  fighting 


28 


for  salvation,  the  devil  tangled  up  in  the  Doc 
tor's  gown,  which  was  being  torn  to  shreds, 
shouting  to  us  to  help  him.  Suddenly  Isrul 
dealt  him  a  tremendous  blow,  broke  loose,  and 
with  one  bound  sprang  crashing  through  the 
nearest  window,  taking  the  sash  with  him,  and 
Billy,  with  his  gown  in  tatters  and  his  mask 
torn  off,  scrambled  breathless  to  his  feet.  AVe 
saw  him  start  to  speak,  then  look  towards  the 
door.  A  change  came  over  his  face,  and  with 
a  shout  of  "  The  Doctor !"  he  swept  the  lamp 
from  the  table  and  followed  Isrul  through  the 
shattered  window — followed  by  the  rest  of  us, 
pell-mell. 

The  attendance  at  chapel  next  morning  was 
better  than  it  had  been  before  in  years.  Every 
student  showed  up.  Billy  was  the  demurest  of 
the  congregation,  sat  well  forward,  but  kept 
in  the  shadow  of  a  pillar  to  hide  an  ugly  bruise 
over  the  eye,  and  sang  devoutly.  The  coffin 
had  been  removed,  but  there  was  no  need  of  a 
coffin  to  make  the  occasion  solemn.  Little 
Dole  sat  on  the  front  bench,  and  the  Doctor's 
face  wore  a  look  of  doom.  I  believe  every 
man  of  the  three  hundred  stopped  breathing. 
I  know  I  did.  He  said  a  great  outrage  had 


20 


been  committed  (Little  Dole  groaned),  and 
that  the  faculty  had  met  and  determined  to 
inflict  the  severest  punishment  in  their  power 
— expulsion.  "  We  shall  expel  every  one  con 
cerned  in  its  perpetration.  The  town  author 
ities  will  probably  follow  it  up  with  a  prosecu 
tion."  (Little  Dole  grunted.)  The  Doctor 
paused.  You  could  put  your  hand  out  and 
feel  the  silence.  " — As  soon  as  the  perpetra 
tors  are  discovered,"  he  added.  A  hundred 
men  drew  long  breaths. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  saw 
an  old  lame  darky  hobbling  across  the  lawn 
with  a  stick.  His  mother  would  hardly 
have  recognized  him.  His  eye  was  appar 
ently  bunged  up,  his  head  was  plastered  over 
with  court-plaster  like  a  map,  his  arm  was 
in  a  sling,  and  he  was  so  lame  he  could 
scarcely  hobble;  but  he  was  evidently  not 
entirely  blind,  for  he  was  making  straight 
for  the  Doctor's  office.  He  was  nearly  there. 
Billy  gazed  at  him  intently,  and  suddenly 
cut  out  of  the  door,  we  after  him.  It  was 
Isrul.  He  had  actually  reached  the  door  and 
raised  his  hand  to  knock  when  Billy  got  to 
him. 


30 


"  "Wait.  Come  here ;  I  want  to  speak  to 
you,"  be  said  to  him,  in  a  breathless  under 
tone,  beckoning  him  away  from  the  door. 

"  "Who  clat  ?"  asked  Isrul,  lifting  his  head  and 
peering  at  him  out  of  his  bunged-up  eye,  as  if 
he  could  not  see  him.  "  Who  dat  ?  I  cyarn  see 
you.  Dat  Billy  Logan  clone  put  my  eye  out." 

"  No,  he  hasn't.  How  do  you  know  he  did 
it  ?"  said  Billy,  persuasively.  "  Come  this  way 
a  minute ;  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  it." 

"Yes,  he  did.  I  got  he  hankcher  wid  he 
name  on  it.  I  know  he  do  it.  I  cyarn  heah 
what  you  say.  Talk  louder ;  he  done  stop  up 
my  ear."  He  put  his  hand  up  to  his  ear  as  if 
to  try  and  hear  him. 

The  Doctor  was  moving  within.  Billy,  with 
a  look  of  desperation  at  the  door,  caught  hold 
of  him.  "  Come  here,  Uncle  Isrul,"  he  said, 
seductively. 

"Ough!"  cried  Isrul.  "Umh!  Dat  boy 
done  breck  my  arm.  He  done  ruin  me  for 
life."  He  raised  his  voice. 

"  No,  he  didn't.  Don't  talk  so  loud,  please, 
sir,"  expostulated  Billy,  with  a  glance  at  the 
door.  "  If  you  come  this  way  I'll  talk  to  you 
about  it." 


"I  don'  want  to  talk  to  you.  I  want  to 
talk  to  de  Doctor.  Who  is  you  ?  You  am'  de 
Doctor,  is  you  ?  I  cyarn  see  you."  lie  raised 
his  head  again  as  if  to  try  and  see  his  inter 
locutor,  groaned  with  pain,  and  then  turned  to 
the  door  and  caught  the  knocker. 

"  Come  here.     I'll  pay  you,  Uncle  Isrul." 

Isrul  paused.  "  How  much  you  gwine  pay 
me  ?" 

"  I'll  pay  you  well.  Come  here ;  come  on." 
Billy's  voice  was  never  so  enticing. 

"  I  cyarn  walk.  Dat  boy  done  breck  my 
leg." 

"  I'll  help  you  ;  I'll  carry  you.  Come  on," 
and  he  took  the  old  fellow  and  helped  him 
hobble  along,  almost  carrying  him  to  his 
room.  "  Come  in."  He  flung  the  door  open. 
But  Isrul  sank  down  at  the  step  with  a  groan, 
exhausted.  Billy  offered  him  five  dollars  not 
to  tell.  He  was  obdurate.  At  last  Billy  in 
despair  asked  him  what  he  would  hold  his 
tongue  for.  He  reflected,  then  turned  and 
glanced  around  inside  the  room  through  his 
almost  closed  eyes.  "  Gim  me  dat  new  suit  o' 
clo'es."  Billy  called  him  by  a  bad  name. 

Isrul  pulled  himself  up  with  a  groan,  and 


32 


started  for  the  Doctor's.  Just  as  he  reached 
the  door,  Billy  rushed  after  him.  His  educa 
tion,  his  future,  his  sweetheart,  hung  on  the 
issue.  Breathing  threatenings  and  slaughter, 
he  went  to  get  the  clothes.  Isrul  examined 
them  critically,  and  poked  them  into  his  bas 
ket. 

"Whar  de  beaver?"  he  asked  in  surprise, 
looking  around  as  if  he  expected  to  see  that 
article  lying  beside  the  basket. 

It  was  not  in  the  contract,  explained  Billy ; 
but  to  no  purpose. 

"  Oh  yes,  it  was,"  said  Isrul.  "  Suit  o1  clo'es 
ain'  nuttin'  'clout  de  beaver.  You  kin  teck  'em 
back.  I  want  to  see  de  Doctor  anyways." 

He  took  the  clothes  out,  and  rose  painfully. 

The  beaver  was  brought,  and  having  put  it 
carefully  into  his  basket  on  top  of  the  clothes, 
and  surrendered  the  handkerchief,  Isrul  rose. 

"  Good-even  in',  Marse  Satan."  he  said.  "  I'll 
have  de  music  dyah  in  time  to-night ;"  and  he 
hobbled  off. 

Billy  spent  the  afternoon  having  the*  rents 
made  the  night  before  in  his  old  black  coat 
sewed  up,  so  that  he  could  wear  it  to  the  ball. 
He  was  a  little  late  in  arriving. 


"  '  GOOD  EVE'NIN',  MARSE  SATAN  '  " 


As  he  led  Miss  Mabel  up  the  floor  to  the 
head  of  the  room,  his  eyes  fell  on  the  players. 
Well  out  in  front  of  them  sat  Isrul,  as  well  as 
he  ever  was  in  his  life,  without  a  scratch  on 
him,  and  decked  out  in  Billy's  new  suit,  and 
with  his  beaver  cocked  on  his  woolly  head. 
He  waited  till  Billy  reached  his  place,  then 
threw  his  head  back,  and  took  a  long  look  at 
him,  with  his  eyes  nearly  closed,  as  if  trying 
to  see  him,  caught  his  eye,  and  bowed  low  to 
him.  "  Good-evenin',  Marse  Satan,"  he  said, 
lifted  his  elbow,  and,  with  a  triumphant  wag 
of  his  head,  shouted,  "  S'lute  your  pardners," 
and  began  to  "  outplay  Gabrul." 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  THE  SURRENDER 
OF  THE  MARQUIS  CORNWALLIS 

I  HAD  the  honor  done  me  once  to  be  ap 
pointed  Provisional  Secretary  and  Treasurer  of 
the  State  Chapter  of  the  Society  of  the  Sons 
of  the  Revolution,  or  of  the  American  Revolu 
tion  ;  I  never  could  remember  which.  (To  this 
unhappy  fault  of  memory  I  owed  my  early  re 
moval  from  the  responsible  and  remunerative 
office ;  for  the  offspring  of  the  two  Revolutions 
were  like  the  first  pair  of  brothers,  not  wholly 
in  unity.)  In  the  discharge  of  this  office  I  be 
came  acquainted  with  a  good  deal  of  history 
which  has  satisfied  me  that  the  commonly  re 
ceived  versions  are  far  from  accurate.  Among 
the  true  accounts  which  I  thus  received  is  the 
following  story  of  the  surrender  of  the  Mar 
quis  Cornwallis,  which  was  related  to  me  by 
an  eye-witness,  and  is,  therefore,  of  course,  true. 

I  was  seated  one  day  in  my  office,  when 
there  came  a  tap  at  my  door.  It  differed  essen- 


35 


tially  from  either  the  deferential  tap  of  a 
client,  or  the  more  imperious  rap  of  the  creat 
ure  who  carries  around  a  packet  of  long,  nar 
row  invitations  to  settle,  the  acceptance  of 
which  keeps  a  man  poor.  This  knock  was 
light  and  tentative,  and  yet  had  in  it  a  certain 
assertion. 

"  Come  in,"  I  called. 

It  was  repeated.  I  knew  then  that  it  was 
not  the  gentleman  of  the  narrow  and  incon 
venient  invitations.  He  never  waits  to  be  in 
vited  twice.  Sometimes  he  comes  even  when 
a  response  is  withheld.  I  called  more  boldly, 
•'Come  in." 

The  door  opened  slowly,  and  a  person  en 
tered — a  little,  old,  dried-up-looking  individual 
with  a  little,  old,  dried -up  black  face,  sur 
mounted  by  a  little,  old,  dried-up  black  beaver. 
The  white  corners  of  two  little  eyes,  or  of 
what  from  their  geographical  position  I  sup 
posed  were  eyes,  were  visible.  The  visitor, 
with  his  back  to  me,  closed  the  door  without 
the  slightest  sound,  as  carefully  as  if  a  creak 
would  have  blown  the  house  down.  Then  he 
turned  and  faced  me. 

"  Well  ?"  I  said.     «  What  is  it  ?" 


86 

"  Sarvent,  suh.  Is  dis  de  place  whar  you 
gits  you'  money  ?" 

"No,  it  is  not,"  I  said,  feeling  that  I  was 
safe  within  the  bounds  of  truth  this  far. 

"  'Tain't  ?"  He  reflected  a  little  while.  "  Dis 
de  place  dee  tole  me  was  de  place."  He  gazed 
all  around  curiously. 

"Who  told  you?"  I  asked. 

"Dee.  Who  is  you?  Is  you  de  American 
Kebelution?"  His  little  eyes  were  on  me 
scrutinizingly. 

"  Well,  I  believe  1  am ;  but  I  am  not  sure," 
I  said. 

"  Well,  you's  de  one."  He  looked  relieved. 
"  I  is  de  son1  of  de  Ilebelution." 

This  cast  some  doubt  on  my  identity. 

"  You  are  the  son  of  which  one  ?"  I  asked, 
having  learned  to  be  discreet. 

"Of  bofe,"  he  said.  "I  wuz  right  dyah 
at  de  time — in  little  York.  I  seed  it  all." 

"  You  saw  it  ?    What  ?" 

"  Generul  Wash'n't'n's  surrender.  I  seed  it. 
I  seed  it  when  he  come  a-gallinupin'  up  on  he 
big  iron-gray  haws,  an'  I  see  de  Markiss  Corn- 
wallis,  too.  I  see  'em  bofe." 

I  began  to  be  interested. 


"  You  saw  it  all  ?"  I  asked.  "  Well,  tell  me 
about  it." 

"  Den  you  gwine  gi'  me  my  money  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  it  is  not  too  much." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said.  "You  see 
'twuz  dis  a-way.  I  wuz  born  right  dyah  in 
little  York.  My  mammy  she  wuz  de  nuss  for 
ole  missis  chillern,  an'  I  wuz— 

"  Wait ;  how  old  are  you  ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  don1  know  how  ole  I  is.  I  so  ole  I  done 
forgit.  I  know  I  is  over  a  hunderd.  I  know 
I  is,  'cuz  I  wuz  twelve  year  ole  when  my 
mammy  die,  an'  she  die  when  she  had  nuss  ole 
missis  lars  gal,  jes  after  de  holidays,  de  littles' 
one  o'  all,  an'  I  know  she  wuz  ol'er  'n  ole 
missis.  I  know  I  is  over  a  hunderd.  I  reckon 
maybe  I  is  two  hunderd — maybe  I  is." 

This  was  convincing,  so  I  said,  "  Go  on. 
You  know  all  about  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  suh,  I  knows  all  about  it.  Hi ! 
how  I  gwine  help  it  ?  Warn't  I  right  dyah  ! 
seein'  of  it  fum  de  top  of  de  ole  Father  Aber- 
ham  apple-tree  in  ole  marster  gyardin  ?  Mar- 
kiss  Cornwallis  he  had  done  been  dyah  for  I 
don'  know  how  long,  jes  a-bossin'  it  'roun', 
eatin'  off  o'  ole  marster  bes'  chanv  an'  silver 


38 

whar  Nat  rub  up,  an'  chawin'  tobacker,  an' 
orderin'  roun'  jes  big  as  ole  marster.  An'  he 
use'  to  strut  roun'  dyah,  an'  war  he  beaver 
hat  an'  he  swo'd,  an'  set  on  de  front  poach,  an' 
drink  he  julep  jes  like  he  own  all  de  niggers 
fum  Pigeon  Quarter  spang  to  William sbu'g. 
An'  he  say  ef  Gen'l  Wash'n'n  jes  dyah  to  set 
he  foot  dyah  he'd  teck  de  hide  off  him,  he  say. 
An'  one  day,  jes  after  dinner,  he  wuz  settin' 
on  de  poach  a-smokin'  he  cigar,  an'  come  a 
nigger  on  a  mule  wid  a  note,  an'  he  look  at  it, 
an'  squint  he  eye  up  dis  a- way,  an'  say,  ( Heah 
he  now.'  An'  de  urrs  say, '  Who  ?'  An'  he  say, 
'  Dat  feller,  Gen'l  Wash'n'n '  An'  de  say,  <  He 
want  me  to  s'render.'  An'  dee  all  laugh.  An' 
he  say,  '  You  go  back,  an'  tell  him  I  say  to 
come  on,  an'  ef  he  come  I'll  teck  de  hide  off'n 
him,'  he  say,  '  an'  I'll  whup  him  wid  one  han' 
'hine  my  back,'  he  say.  '  Talk  'bout  s'render  !' 
he  say.  An'  he  sont  de  nigger  back,  an'  holler 
for  he  haws  an'  he  swo'd.  An'  fus'  thing  }TOU 
know,  heah  come  Gen'l  Wash'n'n  a-ridin1  on  a 
big  iron-gray,  a  gol'  pum'l  to  he  saddle,  an'  a 
silver  bit  to  he  bridle  long  as  you'  arm,  an'  a 
gol'  cyurb  to  it  big  as  log-chain,  an'  a  swo'd  by 
he  side  long  as  a  fence-rail.  An'  as  he  come 


39 

ridin'  up  he  say, '  Did'n'  I  tole  you  to  s'render?' 
he  say.  '  You  don'  s'render,  don'  you  ?'  he  say. 
An'  Markiss  Cormvallis  soon  as  he  see  him 
he  wuz  so  skeert  he  ain'  know  what  to  do. 
He  jes  turn  white  as  you'  shut,  an'  he  ain' 
wait  ner  nuttin' ;  he  jes  took  out  hard  as  he 
could  stave  it.  An'  Gen'l  Wash'n'n  he  teck 
out  after  him,  an'  he  hollers,  '  Stop!  s'render!' 
says  he.  An'  he  say,  '  I  ain'  gwine  s'render,' 
says  he.  An'  he  wuz  a-ketchin'  up  wid  him; 
an'  Markiss  Cornwallis  he  teck  out  roun'  a 
apple-tree — a  gre't  big  apple-tree  —  a  Father 
Aberham  apple-tree.  An'  Gen'l  Waslrn'n  he 
teck  out  right  after  him,  an'  dyah  dee  hed  it! 
Well,  suh,  you  nuver  see  san'  fly  so  in  you' 
life.  Fus'  Markiss  Cornwallis,  an'  den  Gen'l 
Wash'n'n.  Markiss  Cornwallis  he  wuz  ridin' 
of  a  little  sorrel  pacin'  my  ah,  an'  she  wuz  jes 
a-movin'  ;  her  legs  look  like  guinea  -  hen's. 
Gen'l  Wash'n'n  he  wuz  ridin'  of  a  big  iron- 
gray  haws,  an'  he  wuz  gwine  like  elephant. 
De  myah  war'n'  nowhar.  An'  ev'y  now  an' 
den  Gen'l  Wash'n'n  he  hollers  out  an'  say, 
*  S'render !'  an'  Markiss  Cornwallis  he  say,  '  I 
ain'  gwine  s'render,'  says  he,  an'  he  wuz  jes 
a-flyin'.  An'  pres'n'y  Gen'l  Wash'n'n  he  come 


40 


up  wid  him — even — so,  an'  he  draws  he  swo'd, 
an'  Markiss  Cornwallis  he  holler  out  an'  say, 
1 1  s'renders,'  says  he.  But  'tain'  no  use  to 
say  '  s'render '  den.  Gen'l  Wash'n'n  he  done 
git  he  blood  up,  an'  he  say,  i  Oh  yes,'  he  say. 
'  Who  dat  you  gwine  teck  de  hide  off'n  him  ?' 
he  say,  an'  he  jes  drawee!  he  weepin',  an'  he 
giv'  a  swipe,  an'  he  cut  he  head  right  clean 
off,  he  did.  Yes,  suh ;  he  done  dat  thing,  'cuz 
I  seed  him. — Whar  wuz  I  ?  I  wuz  right  up  in 
de  apple-tree. — What  did  I  do?  I  jes  slip' 
down  out'n  de  tree  an'  hoi'  Gen'l  Wash'n'n 
haws  for  him  while  he  wuz  cuttin'  he  head 
off ;  an'  when  he  git  thoo,  he  say, '  Felix,  how's 
de  Cun'l  an'  de  ladies  an'  de  fambly  ?'  an'  he 
wipes  he  swo'd,  an'  put  't  back  in  de  scabbard, 
an'  when  he  git  ready  to  mount,  he  gi'  me  two 
an'  threepence,  an'  says  he,  *  Felix,  a  gent'man 
nuver  gies  less  'n  dat  to  a  servant,'  says  he.— 
Suh? 

"  Well,  suh,  anything  JTOU  choose.  You  is  a 
gent'man,  I  see ;  an'  Gen'l  Wash'n'n  he  say 
a  gent'man  nuver  gies  a  servant  less  'n  — 
Thankee,  suh;  I  knowed  you  wuz  a  gent'- 


WHEN  LITTLE  MORDECAI  WAS  AT  THE 
BAR 

LL  lawyers  have  a  suffi 
ciently  good  opinion  of 
their  profession,  but  the 
proudest  member  of  the 
bar  that  ever  was  was 
Peter  Hankins,  "  Jeclge 
Peter,"  as  he  was  called. 
The  "jedge"  had  a  pre 
scriptive  right  to  his 
title.  He  had  filled  the 
position  of  office-boy, 

boot -black,  book  -  carrier,  body  -  servant,  and 
toddy -mixer  for  every  lawyer  in  the  circuit 
for  two  generations,  besides  sweeping  up  the 
Court-house,  filling  the  inkstands,  and  being 
general  factotum  for  the  clerk,  the  sheriff, 
and  the  jailer. 

He  had  eventually  retired,  owing  to  a 
change  of  administration  in  the  Court-house, 
coupled,  on  his  part,  with  habitual  drunken- 


42 


ness  and  contemptuous  reference  to  the  new 
regime,  and  was  thereafter  compelled  to  dig 
potatoes  and  do  odd  jobs  like  any  other  com 
mon  hand ;  but  he  never  regarded  his  sub 
sequent  occupation  as  any  thing  at  all,  and 
held  everything  modern  in  sovereign  con 
tempt.  He  was  too  proud  generally  to  enter 
in  a  private  capacity  the  court-room  in  which 
he  had  once  presided  officially.  It  was  only  on 
extraordinary  occasions,  such  as  murder  trials, 
that  he  ever  relaxed  his  dignity  so  far  as  to  en 
ter  the  precincts  once  so  familiar  to  him,  and  he 
atoned  for  it  when  there  by  carrying  his  head 
with  an  air,  and  wearing  on  his  face  a  look,  of 
disdain  which  would  have  warranted  the  judge 
in  sending  him  to  jail  for  contempt  of  court. 
Whatever  happened,  he  was  ready  with,"  When 
me  an'  Little  Mordicai  was  at  de  bar,  suh." 

It  was  thus  that  he  happened  to  be  present 
at  the  trial  of  the  murderer  who  killed  a  wom 
an  in  the  lower  end  of  the  county,  and  who, 
after  coming  near  being  hanged  by  the  mob, 
was  saved  by  Judge  Gaston  through  one  of 
the  ablest  defences  ever  known  in  the  State. 
The  jury  at  first  hung  for  a  short  time,  but 
the  crowd  was  completely  carried  away  by 


43 

the  judge's  masterly  speech,  and  it  was  at  this 
crisis  that  Jedge  Peter  was  found  busily  en 
gaged  outside  of  the  court-green,  with  osten 
tatious  indifference,  making  a  wedge  for  his 
hoe-handle.  McPheeters  went  up  to  him. 

"Jedge,  fine  speech  Judge  Gaston  made, 
wasn't  it  ?"  he  asked  him. 

Jedge  Peter  turned  his  hoe  around  slowly 
and  measured  the  eye,  stuck  the  wedge  a  lit 
tle  way  in  it,  and  straightened  up.  "  Gash- 
cum !  Gashcum  !"  he  said,  disdainfully.  "  What 
does  I  know  about  yo'  Jedge  Gashcum?  I's 
heered  Little  Mordicai  when  I  was  at  de  bar." 

This  was  what  McPheeters  wanted,  and  he 
told  him  of  the  jury  being  hung. 

"Yes,  an'  he  hung  de  jury  too,"  declared 
the  jedge,  his  chin  high  in  the  air,  and  his 
whole  figure  expressing  his  disdain.  "  Hung 
de  jury,  an'  hung  de  cote,  an'  ev'ybody  else, 
an'  hung  th'ee  good  plantations  an'  two  hun- 
derd  niggers  in  his  deed  of  intrust,  too,  in  he 
breeches-pocket,  he  did." 

McPheeters  looked  incredulous,  and  tolled 
him  on.  "  Who  was  his  client,  and  what  had 
he  done  ?" 

"He  client?     He  had  so  many  clients  I 


44 

cyarn  'member  de  one  he  had  dat  time,  but  he 
had  done  do  some'n  sho  'nough !  He  hadn' 
killed  no  little  po'  one  white  ooman ;  he  had 
done  kilt  th'ee  womens  —  fKee  womens!  Jes 
so,  'dout  no  consideratin'  hat  all ;  had  jes  chop 
dee  haids  wide  open,  an'  cut  'em  up  like  you 
cut  up  hawgs.  Dee  fotch  him  up  heah,  an' 
lodge  him  in  jail,  and  tell  me  to  keep  him, 
an'  dat  I  did!  I  lock  him  up  dyah  in  de 
cell  wid  log  -  chain  roun'  him  like  a  bull ;  an' 
de  folks  wuz  so  rabid  'bout  him  I  tell  de 
Gov'ner  to  stan'  by  me  (dee  warn'  like  dem 
few  mens  turr  night,  hollerin'  an'  drinkin' 
whiskey  aroun' ;  de  whole  county  wuz  out), 
an'  he  sont  me  a  comp'ny  o'  millingtary,  an' 
'twuz  all  me  an1  dee  could  do  together  to  keep 
'em  fum  him.  But  we  did,  an'  we  hilt  him 
good  till  de  trial  come  on.  Dat  wuz  a  trial 
as  wuz  a  trial!  De  whole  State  wuz  dyah. 
An'  de  th'ee  womens  dee  went  an'  hired  th'ee 
la'yers  apiece  to  pussecute  him,  dat  made  ten, 
'cuz  you  know  dee's  al'ays  a  pussecutin'  la'yer 
fur  de  State  to  eternally  pussecute,  an'  dee 
come  heah  in  dee  gigs  wid  de  books  an'  papers, 
an'  lock  de  do',  an'  wouldn'  le'  nobody  come  in 
but  me ;  'cuz  dee  hed  to  insult  me,  an'  I  wuz 


45 


'bleeged  to  be  dyah,  'cuz  I  bed  done  put  de 
log-chain  on  him.  Dem  ten  wuz  'bleeged  to 
be  dyah,  'cuz  de  prisoner  he  wuz  a  pleader ; 
he  wouldn'  hev  no  la'yer  roun'  heah  for  him ; 
he  hed  done  sont  all  de  way  down  fur  Little 
Mordicai." 

"  Little  Mordicai  ?"  said  McPheeters,  inquir 
ingly. 

"  Yes,  Little  Mordicai !  Little  Mordicai 
warn'  no  Gashcum ;  he  wuz  a  la'yer.  Dee  wuz 
giants  in  dem  days.  He  come  in  a  gig  wid  his 
portmantia  behin'  him,  an'  he  tell  me  to  teck 
it  off  an'  cyah  't  to  he  room,  an'  bresh  he 
boots,  an'  he  wash,  an'  put  on  he  ruffled  shut, 
an'  teck  he  snuff-box,  an'  tell  me  to  come  on— 
an'  he  went  to  de  jail,  an'  I  open  de  do',  an' 
he  teck  out  he  snuff-box,  an'  he  ax  me  whar 
'  dat  dam  scoundrel'  wuz,  an'  I  le'  him  in,  an' 
he  tole  me  to  hoi'  de  do',  an'  he  walk  in  an'  look 
at  him  settin'  dyah  on  he  bed  with  my  log- 
chain  on  him — he  look  at  him  tell  he  look  like 
he  dwindlin'  up.  An'  he  say  presney,  '  Is  you 
Little  Mordicai?'  An'  he  say, '  Yes:  an'  I  bio* 

«/   "  O 

Mordicai  too,'  he  say.  An'  he  say, i  I  warn'  you 
to  defen'  me,'  he  say.  An'  Little  Mordicai  he 
say, '  How  much  does  you  think  your  dam  neck 


46 


is  wuth  T  he  say.  An'  he  say,  i  I  will  give 
you  a  thousan'  dollars ;  I  is  a  po'  man,'  he 
say.  An'  Little  Mordicai  he  teck  a  pinch  o' 
snuff,  dis  away,  an'  he  say,  '  Dem  wuz  po' 
vvomens  too,'  he  say ;  6  an'  you  is  got  th'ee 
plantations  on  de  Eoanoke  an'  two  hunderd 
niggers,'  he  say.  An'  he  say, '  I  will  give  you 
two  thousan'  dollars,'  he  say.  An'  Little  Mor 
dicai  he  teck  up  a  pinch  o'  snuff,  dis  away,  an' 
he  pitch  it  away  dat  away,  an'  he  say, i  Two 
thousan'  dollars  ain'  wuff  dat,'  he  say.  '  I'll 
see  you'  dam  neck  breck  befo'  I  will  open  my 
mouf  for  less  'n  ten  thousan'  dollars,'  he  say, 
'  on  a  deed  o'  intrust,'  he  say ;  '  an'  you  will 
fry  in  hell  too,  a  thousan'  years,'  he  say.  An' 
he  shiver  like  a  p'inter-dog,  jes  so,  an'  he  say, 
6 1  will  do  it.'  An'  Little  Mordicai  retch  he 
han'  in  he  pocket,  an'  pull  de  deed  o'  intrust 
out  he  pocket  wid  de  whereas  an'  de  heredi 
taments  aforesaid,  an'  teck  a  pen  an'  ink  out 
he  weskit  pocket,  whar  he  cyared  'em  reg'lar, 
an'  meek  him  sign  it  right  dyah,  an'  swar  to 
it  wid  de  hereditaments  aforesaid,  'cuz  he  know 
he  wuz  'bleeged  to  had  him,  settin'  dyah  wid 
de  chain  roun'  him,  an'  he  hed  done  fotch  de 
deed  o'  intrust  wid  him,  wid  all  de  whereas 


47 

an'  de  plantations  an'  niggers  an'  de  heredita 
ments  aforesaid,  an'  he  put  he  name  to  it,  an' 
kiss  de  book  right  dyah  befo'  him,  whar  he 
cyared  aroun'  fur  dem  pupposes  as  aforesaid. 
An'  Little  Mordicai  put  de  deed  o'  intrust  in 
he  pocket  an'  button  it  up,  an'  nuver  say  anurr 
word  to  him,  jes  tu'n  an'  went  back  to  supper, 
an'  set  down  wid  de  jedge  an'  all,  an'  tole  'em 
to  lef  de  man  in  jail.  An'  dat  night  he  ain' 
sleep  none,  he  bu'n  seben  candles  readin'  o'  he 
deed  o'  intrust  wid  de  whereas  an'  de  heredi 
taments  aforesaid.  An'  de  nex'  day  he  went 
'way ;  an'  de  cote  meet,  an'  dee  lef  de  man  in 
jail  wid  de  log-chain  on  him,  an'  meet  agin  an' 
lef  him  dyah,  an'  meet  agin,  an'  den  de  Gran' 
Jury  redite  him.  An'  Avhen  Little  Mordicai 
come  dat  time,  he  wuz  a-ridin'  of  a  fine  black 
thery-bred  my  ah  wid  two  white  foots,  an' 
laigs  jes  keen  as  blacksnakes,  an'  he  had  injy- 
rubber  shoes  on  her;  an'  when  de  cote  meet 
dat  mornin'  he  tole  me  to  tie  her  dyah  at  de 
fence  jes  outside  de  cote-yard  gate.  An'  when 
de  trial  earned  on  de  millingtary  wuz  dyah : 
dee  heel  de  man  dyah  in  de  Cote-house ;  an'  de 
ten  la'yers  whar  de  th'ee  womens  he  kilt  done 
hire  to  wrassle  wid  Little  Mordicai  an'  to  pus- 


48 

secute  him,  an'  de  commonwealth's  attorney 
whar  eternally  pussecutes ;  dee  hed  a  steer- 
cart  load  o'  books  dyah  dee  meek  me  spread 
out  on  de  bar  befo'  'em ;  I  strain  my  back  dee 
wuz  so  many ;  I  'am'  git  over  it  yit  (dat's  de 
way  I  happen  to  be  in  de  Cote-house  to-day ; 
hit  hut  me  so,  I  wuz  tryin'  to  res'  it ;  I  ain' 
keerin'  nuttin'  'bout  dis  heah  little  Gashcum 
jestice  trials) ;  dee  hed  a  whole  fo'-hoss  wag- 
gin-load  o'  books  spread  out  on  de  bar,  an'  dee 
riz  an'  made  dee  speeches,  an'  tell  de  jedge 
'bout  de  womens  de  murderer  hed  done  kill, 
an'  ax  Little  Mordicai  is  he  ready,  an'  sot  down, 
an'  Little  Mordicai  riz.  He  didn'  had  but  one 
book,  jes  by  ah  one  book,  de  curisomes'-lookin' 
book  you  ever  see;  'twarn'  boun'  like  turr 
books ;  de  back  wuz  sort  o'  cornicle  like  it  hed 
been  buried ;  an'  he  open  it  slow,  sort  o'  so, 
an'  he  face  wuz  sort  o'  curisome-lookin',  an'  he 
tell  'em  to  teck  de  chains  off  n  de  prisoner,  dat 
de  internal  consicution  didn'  'low  no  prisoner 
to  wyar  chains  in  cote  ;  an'  dat  dee  done  ;  an' 
de  crowd  wuz  so  thick  roun'  you  couldn' 
breathe ;  an'  de  millingtary  dee  wuz  dyah  to 
stan'  by  me  ;  an'  Little  Mordicai  he  teck  pinch 
o'  snuff,  sort  o'  so,  an'  look  roun'  an'  bresh  he 


49 


shut  ruffle,  sort  o'  so,  an'   bow  to  ev'ybody. 
Den  he  begin. 

"He  pay  he  bespects  to  all  de  pussecutin' 
gent'mens,  an'  to  de  cote,  an'  to  all  on  us  gent'- 
mens  on  de  bar,  an'  to  de  crowd  an'  de  mil- 
lingtary,  an'  den  he  riz  a  pint,  jes  a  pint ;  he 
lied  a  barrel  he  could  'a'  riz,  but  a  pint  wuz 
'nough  fur  him;  an'  he  tuck  up  de  book,  de 
curisome-lookin'  book,  an'  riz  a  pint,  an'  he 
read,  an'  'twuz  so  lamed  dee  couldn'  nobody 
onderstan'  him;  dee  say  'twuz  dead  languidge, 
an'  de  book  hed  been  buried  a  hunderd  thou- 
san'  year,  an'  he  riz  de  pint,  jes  one  pint,  like 
I  say,  an'  dat  wuz — dat  wuz  dat  dee  couldn' 
hang  de  man,  an'  dee  couldn'  even  try  him ; 
dat  wuz  he  pint.  An'  talk  about  hung  jury ! 
He  hang  de  jury,  an'  he  hang  de  jedge,  an'  he 
hang  de  folks  all  roun'  him,  dee  couldn'  budge ; 
dee  jes  set  dyah  right  still,  jes  like  nail  druv 
in  plank,  like  dee  wuz  tricked.  An'  de  jedge 
say, 4  Las'  cote,  an'  de  cote  'fo'  dat,  an'  de  cote 
'f o'  dat.  Well,  dam  me  ef  'tain'  so  1'  An'  dee 
all  set  right  still  an'  speechless,  an'  jes  Little 
Mordicai  stan'in'  up,  smilin'  an'  curisome-look 
in',  an'  de  murderer  settin'  by  him,  white  an' 
trimblin' ;  an'  Little  Mordicai  he  turned  an' 


50 

whisper  a  word,  jes  a  word,  to  de  man,  an'  he 
riz  an'  walk  out  o'  de  Cote-house  right  easy, 
like  he  wuz  tiptoein'  not  to  wake  'em  up,  an' 
made  a  dart  for  de  cote-green  gate,  an'  flung 
heself  on  de  back  o'  de  black  my  ah,  an'  head 
ed  her  down  de  road  jes  as  de  crowd  in  de 
Cote-house  breck  fum  onder  de  spell  o'  Little 
Mordicai's  pint,  an'  po'ed  roarin'  out  o'  de  Cote- 
house  arter  him.  Dee  'd  'a'  limbered  him  ef 
dee  could  'a'  got  him ;  but  shuh !  dat  wuz  Lit 
tle  Mordicai's  myah  wid  de  blacksnake  laigs. 
De  devil  hed  done  brecked  her ;  she  riz  up  off 
de  groun'  an'  flew  jes  like  a  bud.  She  didn' 
meek  a  piece  o'  track,  didn'  lef  nuttin'  but  a 
cloud  o'  dust,  an'  nurr  she  nor  dat  man  ever 
been  seed  sence. 

"  An'  Little  Mordicai  he  come  out  de  Cote- 
house  smilin',  teckin'  snuff,  wid  he  arm  roun'  de 
pussecutin'  'torney's  neck,  an'  he  went  an'  live' 
on  he  th'ee  plantations  wid  de  deed  o'  intrust  an' 
de  whereas  an'  de  two  hunderd  niggers  an'  de 
hereditaments  aforesaid.  Dat's  what  he  done ! 

"Gashcum!  Don'  talk  to  me  'bout  your 
Gashcum  !  He  couldn'  'a'  open  he  mouf  in  de 
Cote -house  when  me  an'  Little  Mordicai  wuz 
at  de.  bar !" 


"  '  HE    RIZ    JES1  A    P'INT,  JES*  ONE    p'lNT  '  " 


CHARLIE   WHITTLER'S   CHRISTMAS 
PARTY 

I  MET  them  just  after  I  came  to  town  to 
practise  law.  They  were  engaged  in  what 
they  termed  "  journalism."  Philologically  the 
term  was  appropriate,  for  they  lived  literally 
from  day  to  day.  They  could  have  secured 
positions  which  would  have  maintained  them 
— at  least,  Henry  could,  for  he  was  a  man  of 
parts,  and  has  made  his  mark  since  in  another 
profession  —  but  what  did  they  want  with 
positions  ?  They  were  "  journalists,"  and  were 
bound  to  be  famous  or  die.  I  suppose  that 
together  they  made  sixty  dollars  a  month — 
some  months  —  and  spent  a  hundred,  or  as 
much  more  as  they  could. 

"  When  we  make  ten  dollars  we  live  on  it," 
said  Henry. 

"When  we  make  fifty  dollars  we  give  a 
ball,"  said  Charlie. 

But  they  were  rich — two  of  the  richest  men 


52 


I  ever  knew.  Certainly  Charlie  was.  He  al 
ready  owned  one  of  the  great  newspapers, 
which  he  was  going  to  make  eclipse  the  Thun 
derer.  He  only  had  not  got  possession  of  it 
yet.  They  lived  in  a  brownstone  palace ;  the 
little  back  third-story  room  at  Mrs.  McDuffy's 
was  only  temporary  quarters  which  they  occu 
pied  for  convenience.  It  was  there  that  they 
invited  me  the  day  before  Christmas,  "to  open 
the  festivities  with  eggnog  and  a  little  supper." 

"  Don't  ring  or  knock ;  just  walk  right  up  to 
the  third  floor,"  said  Charlie.  "  We  have  our 
apartments  in  the  third  story  for  the  light  and 
air.  Nothing  like  pure  air  for  pure  reasoning, 
and  clear  light  for  clearness  of  expression." 

He  Avent  off  talking  about "  the  beauties  of 
nature  "to  be  studied  from  his  windows,  by 
which  he  must  have  meant  the  sky,  and  the 
English  sparrows  which  built  in  the  eaves. 
He  may  have  detected  me  looking  at  his 
old  patent-leather  pumps,  once  the  pride  of 
his  college  days,  now  worn  into  holes ;  his 
threadbare  coat,  and  his  faded  hat ;  for  he 
said,  suddenly, 

"My  dear  boy,  I  will  give  you  a  hint  in 
domestic  economy  :  always  wear  your  shabbi- 


53 


est  clothes  the  day  before  a  ball;  they  will 
make  your  others  look  new  next  day." 

When  I  arrived,  the  following  evening,  I  dis 
obeyed  Charlie's  injunction.  I  did  not  ring,  for 
a  good  reason.  The  bell  had  long  since  dis 
appeared:  carried  off,  Charlie  declared  later, 
by  Henry  in  a  wild  attempt  to  rival  Samson 
one  Saturday  night  when  Mrs.  McDuffy  had 
locked  the  door  on  him. 

"  I  was  trying  to  arouse  Mrs.  McDuffy,"  said 
Henry. 

"You  aroused  her,"  said  Charlie.  "If  it 
had  not  been  for  my  presence  of  mind,  she 
would  have  turned  us  out  into  the  street." 

"If  it  had  not  been  for  your  presence  of 
body,  I  would  have  turned  her  out,"  said 
Henry. 

Charlie  shook  his  head  mournfully. 

"  You  have  no  idea  what  a  time  I  have  keep 
ing  the  peace,"  he  said.  "  I  have  told  Mrs. 
McDuffy  lies  enough  on  his  account  to  take  a 
thousand  years  of  purgatory." 

"  And  enough  on  your  own  account  to  take 
two  thousand,"  said  Henry. 

But  I  am  anticipating.  This  was  told  me 
after  I  got  up  to  the  apartments.  When  I  ar- 


54 


rived  at  the  house,  not  liking  the  look  of  the 
dark  passage  and  narrow  stairs  shown  by  the 
little  smoky  lamp  in  the  window,  I  knocked  - 
knocked  not  once,  but  twenty  times,  without 
the  slightest  result.  The  twenty -first  time, 
however,  was  a  thunderer.  It  created  a  stir 
somewhere  below ;  for  from  the  basement  I 
heard  a  voice  which  told  that  Mrs.  McDuffy 
was  "  aroused." 

"  An'  who  is  that  thryin'  to  break  the  door 
down  now  ?"  she  shouted  as  she  climbed  the 
stairs.  I  prepared  for  the  worst ;  but  it  was 
worse  even  than  I  had  expected.  She  was  a 
stout  and  grizzled  Irishwoman,  whose  absent 
eye  was  said  by  Charlie  to  have  been  lost  in  a 
conflict  with  the  lamented  McDuffy,  who  had, 
however,  come  off  from  the  melee  worse  than 
his  spouse,  as  he  had  disappeared  and  had 
never  been  heard  from  again,  a  fact  which 
gave  Henry's  designation  of  him*  as  "  the  de 
parted  "  a  peculiarly  appropriate  significance. 

"  An'  is  it  breakin'  the  door  down  intoirly 
ye' re  afther?"  she  asked  as  she  advanced,  war 
in  her  voice  and  in  her  garments.  She  was 
evidently  just  out  of  the  kitchen,  as  I  discov 
ered  with  more  senses  than  that  which  noted 


the  yellow  cake-dough  on  her  brawny  arms. 
My  civil  answer  mollified  her  somewhat ;  but 
on  my  asking  if  my  friends  lived  there,  she 
burst  out  again :  "  Live  here,  is  it  ?  Yis,  an'  that 
they  do,  an'  Bridget  McDuffy  is  the  wan  as 
knas  it,  too.  An'  lives  on  the  fat  of  the  Ian', 
they  do ;  an'  gits  it  out  of  may,  they  do,  too ; 
may  a  poor  widder,  or  as  good  as  wan,  an'  not 
a  tin-cint  pace  or  their  money  has  I  sane  for 
three  months ;  an'  they  pramisin'  to  pay  me 
every  wake,  an'  a-drinkin'  an'  a-guzzlin'  them 
selves  up-stairs  as  full  as  St.  Pathrick's  well, 
an'  borryin'  all  o'  me  best  glasses  an'  sphoons, 
an'  niver  the  manners  to  say  wanst  to  may, 
'  Mrs.  McDuffy,  will  ye  walk  in  an'  wret  ye' 
whistle?'" 

This  and  much  more,  till  I  reached  the  third 
floor,  where  I  announced  myself  by  falling  up 
three  steps.  I  found  Charlie  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
and  wTith  the  seat  of  his  breeches  rather  out, 
but  with  a  shiny  new  beaver  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  presiding  over  a  large  bowl  of  egg- 
nog  made  in  the  wash-basin,  while  Henry  was 
preparing  something  over  a  not  very  large 
fire.  One  or  two  other  fellows  were  already 
assembled,  and,  in  default  of  chairs,  were  lying 


f>f, 


on  the  bed,  and  were  being  entertained  by 
reminiscences  of  Mrs.  McDuffy,  evidently  called 
forth  by  the  sound  of  her  voice  below. 

"  So  Cerberus  caught  you  ?"  said  Henry  as  I 
entered.  "  By  Jove  !  when  I  heard  you  tum 
ble,  I  thought  she  was  flinging  you  down  the 
steps." 

"  Why,  Henry !"  said  Charlie,  reproachfully. 
Then  to  us :  "  She  really  has  a  beautiful  tem 
per.  She  is  a  little  ruffled  this  evening,  ow 
ing  to  the  way  Henry  approached  her  on  a 
small  domestic  matter."  He  stirred  in  the 
whiskey. 

"  Approached  her !"  said  Henry.  "  If  you 
had  bought  the  things  instead  of  buying  that 
beaver  to  put  on  your  empty  head,  I  should 
not  have  had  to  go  to  her.  What  do  you  fel 
lows  think  of  my  giving  him  the  money  to  get 
up  the  ball,  and  his  spending  it  all  in  a  beaver 
hat  and  silk  handkerchiefs !" 

Charlie  protested  that  a  beaver  hat  and  silk 
handkerchiefs  were  the  first  necessity  for  a 
gentleman  who  was  going  to  give  a  supper  to 
an  Irish  lord  on  Christmas  Eve.  "Besides, 
didn't  I  get  the  eggs  and  whiskey  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes ;  but  where's  the  supper  ?"  asked  Henry. 


57 

"  I  bet  you  this  hat  against  your  best  pair 
of  breeches  I  get  it  yet,"  said  Charlie. 

"  Done,"  said  Henry.  "  I  will  wear  that  hat 
to  church  to-morrow." 

"  I  told  her  we  were  going  to  have  an  Irish 
lord  to  sup  with  us,"  said  Charlie,  "and  I 
would  have  got  everything  all  right  if  Henry 
had  not  spoilt  it.  Lord  McCarthy,  of  Castle 
McCarthy,  County  Kerry,  Ireland  —  wasn't 
that  the  name  I  gave  ?"  He  addressed  Henry. 
"  Mrs.  McDuify  came  from  County  Kerry ;  but 
rather  young.  Some  years  ago,  I  may  observe." 

"  Well,  you  had  better  go  and  get  some  coal 
from  her ;  for  this  fire  is  going  out,  I  may  ob 
serve,"  said  Henry,  straightening  up. 

"  Where  are  the  slats  P  asked  Charlie. 
"  Aren't  there  still  four  left  ?" 

"  Yes ;  but  there  are  no  more  slats  to  spare. 
The  bed  feels  like  a  gridiron  now." 

"  Better  men  than  you  have  lain  on  a  grid 
iron,"  said  Charlie.  "  What  a  sybarite  you 
are!"  He  stirred  in  more  whiskey.  "Why 
not  sleep  on  the  floor?  That  is  the  natural 
place  to  sleep,  anyhow." 

"  No,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  do,"  said  Henry. 

"  And  I  suppose  we  could  not  spare  another 


58 

chair  ?"  He  gazed  over  at  Henry  doubtfully ; 
but  Henry  shook  his  head  positively. 

"  Why,  then  you  must  go  down-stairs  and 
get  it,"  he  said,  cheerfully. 

"  Down  -stairs!  Where?  We  haven't  any 
coal  down-stairs." 

"  We  have  not !  Why,  of  course  we  have ! 
Do  you  suppose  we  are  going  to  let  an  old 
Irishwoman  sleep  with  her  coal-cellar  literally 
bulging  with  coal  whilst  we  have  no  fire?— 
entertaining  a  real  live  Irish  lord  too !" 

"  Suppose  we  borrow  some  from  Pestler," 
suggested  Henry.  Pestler  was  the  little  apoth 
ecary  next  door. 

But  Charlie  was  shocked.  "Borrow  of  a 
demned  petty  tradesman,  and  the  night  before 
Christmas,  too !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Where  is 
your  pride?  Besides,  I  borrowed  some  from 
him  last  week.  Go  down  and  get  some 
coal." 

But  Henry  was  obdurate.  He  told  him  to 
go  and  get  it  himself;  which  Charlie  finally 
proceeded  to  do. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  bring  it  up  in  ?" 
asked  Henry. 

"  Why,  this,"  said  Charlie,  stripping  the  pil- 


59 


low-case  from  the  only  pillow  left  with  that 
article  on  it.  He  disappeared  down  the  stairs, 
and  a  little  later  we  heard  a  smash  as  of  a  door 
breaking,  and  a  minute  afterwards  we  heard 
him  coming  hastily  back  up  the  steps,  evident 
ly  with  a  burden  on  his  back.  Suddenly,  there 
was  another  sound :  the  voice  of  Mrs.  McDuffy 
broke  on  the  air. 

"  An'  where  is  he  ?  the  thievin',  burglin'  vil 
lain  !  Let  me  get  at  him.  I'll  fix  him.  Break- 
in'  down  me  house  an'  robbin'  me  under  me 
very  eyes !"  She  came  stamping  up  the  stairs. 
Charlie  quickened  his  steps,  but  she  was  evi 
dently  gaining  on  him.  Suddenly,  there  was  the 
most  tremendous  crash.  The  pillow-case  had 
parted  in  the  middle,  and  the  whole  load  rolled 
down  the  steps,  nearly  carrying  Mrs.  McDuffy 
with  it.  Charlie  bounded  into  the  room  with 
a  single  large  lump  in  his  hand,  and  with  the 
upper  half  of  the  slip,  which  he  had  saved. 

"  Don't  lock  the  door,  Henry ;  Mrs.  McDuffy 
will  be  up  directly  to  call  on  us,"  he  said,  his 
face  glowing  with  excitement,  as  Henry  sprang 
to  the  door.  Mrs.  McDuffy  was,  indeed,  already 
there.  The  next  instant  she  nearly  knocked 
the  door  from  its  hinges.  She  evidently  be- 


60 

lieved  it  locked.  Charlie  flung  it  wide  open, 
and  stood  full  in  it. 

"  Why,  is  that  you,  Mrs.  McDuffy  ?"  he  asked, 
in  a  tone  of  pleased  surprise,  holding  out  his 
yet  grimy  hand. 

"  Yis,  an'  yis,  an'  yis,  it  is  Mrs.  McDuffy, 
an'  if  ye  don't  kna'  her,  I  mane  to  make 
ye  kna'  her,"  panted  the  enraged  landlady, 
her  fists  clenched  and  her  arms  akimbo.  She 
paused  for  breath.  It  was  Charlie's  oppor 
tunity. 

"  Know  you !  Why,  of  course,  I  know  you, 
Mrs.  McDuffy,"  said  he,  in  the  blandest  of 
tones.  "  I  have  got  a  drop  of  the  Irish  in  me 
meself  "(which  was  true  if  he  was  talking  about 
whiskey).  "  Me  mither  was  Irish,  ye  kna' " 
(dropping  into  the  brogue).  "  Her  father  was  a 
Doherty,  from  County  Kerry,  an'  I  never  for 
gets  the  pretty  Irish  face  wanst  I  says  it.  I 
was  thinkin'  of  coomin'  down  to  ask  ye  if  ye 
would  not  faiver  us  by  coomin'  up  an'  joinin' 
us.  Sure  I  was  just  sayin'  to  me  friend  here, 
if  ye  want  to  say  the  prettiest  Irishwoman 
this  side  of  the  say,  it's  down-stairs  she  is,  says 
I,  an'  maybe  we  kin  git  her  to  come  up,  says 
I.  An'  I'll  joust  stale  down,  says  I,  an'  break 


61 

into  her  coal-box,  says  I,  an'  fling  a  pace  or  two 
down  the  steps,  says  I,  an'  that  will  fetch  her 
up,  says  I,  to  say  what  the  divil  is  the  mather 
av  it,  says  I,  an'  ye  kin  say  how  pretty  she  is 
yourself,  says  I." 

Mrs.  McDuffy  took  down  her  arms,  and  told 
him  to  "  git  away  wid  his  Irish  blarney — not 
that  wanst  she  had  not  had  her  looks  as  well 
as  the  best  of  them  before  so  much  throuble 
came  upon  her." 

"  Throuble,  is  it  ?  An'  throuble  indade  you 
have  had,  Mrs.  McDuffy,"  said  Charlie ;  "  but 
it  hasn't  touched  yer  looks.  Sure  it's  yer  own 
darther  folks  takes  you  for  any  time.  Why, 
me  friend  here  was  just  sayin'  to  me :  '  Who  is 
that  likely  Irish  leddy  that  let  me  in  the  door 
down-stairs?  An'  is  she  a  girl  or  is  she  mar 
ried  ?'  says  he.  ;  An'  if  she's  married,  is  she  a 
widow  ?'  says  he.  An'  I  says  to  him  :  '  If  she 
was  a  widow,  do  ye  think  she'd  be  so  long,' 
says  I, l  an'  me  in  the  house  too  ?'  says  I.  But 
coom  in.  I'd  like  to  inthroduoe  ye  to  me  friend 
Lord  McCarthy,  av  Castle  McCarthy,  County 
Kerry,  Ireland.  Ye  knows  all  about  the  Mc 
Carthys,  I  knows,  Mrs.  McDuffy.  You  was  a 
Doherty ;  an'  '  Toim  was,'  says  my  mither  to 


02 


me  wanst — '  toim  was,  Charlie,  me  boy,  when 
the  Dohertys  could  muster  five  hundred  shilla- 
lahs  in  Kerry.' ': 

This  was  too  much  for  Mrs.  McDuffy.  She 
came  in  smiling  and  blushing;  and  an  hour 
later,  at  a  table  which  she  had  spread  with 
her  own  hands,  and  loaded  from  her  own 
kitchen,  her  health  was  proposed  by  Henry, 
and  was  drunk  vociferously  by  all ;  and  Char 
lie,  dressed  in  Henry's  best  breeches,  respond 
ed  in  the  best  Irish  speech  I  ever  heard. 


HOW   RELIUS    "BOSSED    THE    RANCH" 


ELIUS  and  I  were  friends 
in  our  bachelor  days. 
He  had  been  in  the 
army,  and  I  naturally 
looked  up  to  him.  He 
had  an  idea  that  he  was 
an  austere  man,  and  was 
fond  of  referring  to  his  severity.  He  used  to 
say, "  I  always  boss  the  ranch."  He  had  been 
a  brave  soldier,  and  I  had  no  reason  to  doubt 
his  courage  on  any  point.  His  was  one  of 
those  natures  whose  freshness  is  preserved  by 
its  own  quality,  and  though  past  middle  life, 
he  was  a  man  about  town,  a  toast  with  every 
one,  and  had  a  reputation  for  coolness  if  not 
for  anything  more.  He  used  to  foster  the 
idea  with  me  that  he  was  impudent  to  wom 
en.  I  never  knew  that  it  rendered  him  un 
popular  with  them.  "They  like  it,  sir,"  he 
used  to  say.  "  All  women  are  slaves,  and  need 
a  master." 


64 


This  was  his  condition  when  we  went  to  live 
in  the  second  floor  of  Mrs.  Trouville's  little 
house.  Mrs.  Trouville  had  been  a  friend  of 
his  in  his  youth,  when  she  was  in  good  circum 
stances,  before  the  war.  She  was  now  a  sorrow 
ful  little  widow,  slim,  refined,  and  delicate,  with 
the  remains  of  her  beauty  not  yet  faded,  and 
with  a  look  in  her  face  and  a  tone  in  her  voice 
which  were  pathetic.  I  know  now  that  Ee- 
lius  went  to  live  there  because  she  was  so  poor, 
though  the  reason  he  assigned  to  me  for  our 
move  was  that  Patsy,  with  whom  he  made  the 
arrangement,  satisfied  him  that  the  rooms  were 
the  best  in  town,  and  that  we  could  not  do  so 
well  anywhere  else.  Patsy  was  Mrs. Trouville's 
maid,  and,  I  believe,  her  cook  also,  though  of 
this  I  was  never  sure.  She  was  small,  thin,  el 
derly,  ladylike,  of  a  dark,  walnut  brown,  and 
as  near  a  copy  of  Mrs.  Trouville  as  she  could 
make  herself.  She  moved  with  a  tread  as  soft 
as  a  black  cat's,  spoke  in  a  tone  as  low  as  a 
whisper,  and  wore  an  old  black  silk  dress  of 
Mrs.  Trouville's  that  had  been  turned  more 
than  once.  In  fact,  she  copied  Mrs.  Trouville 
as  faithfully  as  she  served  her. 

I  observed  shortly  after  we  moved  in  that 


65 

Patsy  treated  Relius  and  me  differently,  Mrs. 
Trouville  treated  us  with  entire  impartiality, 
being  equally  kind  to  both  of  us,  and  watchful 
for  our  comfort ;  but  Patsy's  manner  was  not 
the  same  to  us.  She  brought  Relius  hot  water 
in  the  morning,  looked  after  his  linen,  put  his 
shirt -buttons  into  his  dress -shirts,  and  placed 
pillow-shams  on  his  pillows ;  whilst  I  shaved 
cold  when  I  could  not  wait  for  Relius's  can ; 
looked  after  my  own  shirts,  and  did  without 
pillow-shams.  At  table  she  would  say  to  Re 
lius,  "  More  waffles,  Mr.  Relius  ?"  or,  "  Another 
cup  of  coffee,  Mr.  Relius?"  in  a  tone  hardly 
above  a  whisper,  but  full  of  quiet  interest.  I 
mentioned  this  to  Relius,  but  he  scouted  the 
idea,  and  declared  that  I  was  of  an  envious 
nature.  If  there  was  a  difference,  he  said  it 
was  because  he  treated  Patsy  with  more  se 
verity  than  I  did.  "  You  must  hold  a  woman 
up  to  her  duty,  sir,"  he  said.  "  You  must  boss 
the  ranch." 

This  sedulous  care  extended.  Patsy  came 
to  exercise  a  certain  supervision  over  Relius. 
She  saw  that  he  had  on  his  overshoes  in  snowy 
weather,  or  she,  at  least,  placed  them  out  for 
him  with  a  constancy  which  could  not  be  un- 


66 

noticed.  She  never  said  anything :  she  only 
looked.  Relius  gradually  became  careful  how 
he  omitted  acting  on  these  unmistakable  sug 
gestions.  She  took  to  sitting  up  for  him  if  she 
knew  he  was  out,  just  as  she  did  for  Mrs.  Trou- 
ville.  Once  or  twice,  on  very  inclement  evenings, 
he  actually,  in  view  of  Patsy's  silent  presence, 
gave  up  the  idea  of  going  out.  He  gradually 
took  to  dressing  very  quickly,  and  slipping  out 
very  quietly,  in  a  way  that  I  could  not  under 
stand,  till  once  I  thought  I  heard  him,  in  an 
swer  to  a  question  from  Patsy  in  the  hall,  tell 
her  that  he  was  not  going  out,  and  afterwards 
found  him  dressing.  I  taxed  him  with  it,  but 
he  assured  me  that  I  was  mistaken,  which  I  was 
willing  to  admit.  At  any  rate,  he  slipped  out 
of  the  house  hurriedly,  whilst  I  went  out  at  my 
leisure ;  indeed,  more  slowly  than  I  wished,  be 
cause  I  could  not  find  my  pet  shirt-studs,  and 
had  to  put  up  with  a  broken  set.  As  I  passed 
Patsy  on  the  steps,  I  told  her  I  wanted  her  to 
hunt  for  the  buttons.  She  made  no  reply,  as 
usual.  We  came  home  together,  Relius  and  I, 
after  a  very  jolly  evening,  where  Relius  had 
been  the  life  of  the  party ;  and  he,  with  his 
usual  considerateness,  cautioned  me  against 


67 

making  any  noise,  and  tripped  hastily  up  the 
stairs,  giving  a  single  glance  down  over  the 
banisters  into  the  darkness  below. 

A  day  or  two  afterwards  he  asked  me  with 
much  concern  what  in  the  world  I  had  said  to 
Patsy.  I  could  remember  nothing.  He  said 
Mrs.  Trouville  had  told  him  that  I  had  said 
something  to  Patsy  which  had  deeply  offend 
ed  her ;  that  Patsy  had  never  before  been  so 
spoken  to,  and  that  her  honesty  Avas  above 
question.  I  recalled  the  matter  of  the  shirt- 
studs,  and  said  I  had  never  dreamed  of  accus 
ing  her  of  stealing  them,  and  that  I  would 
tell  her  so.  He  said  no ;  that  he  thought  he 
had  better  settle  it,  which  he  would  do  with 
Mrs.  Trouville,  and  that  anyhow  it  was  just 
as  well  to  keep  her  up  to  her  duty.  I  let  him 
do  as  he  pleased. 

A  short  time  after  this  I  came  home  one 
night  and  found  Kelius  dressing  for  a  ball.  He 
was  nearly  dressed,  and  was  rummaging  in  a 
drawer,  raking  the  things  angrily  backwards 
and  forwards,  and  using  very  strong  language 
about  "  that  little  fool  nigger  "  who  would  not 
let  things  stay  where  he  put  them.  Finally  he 
asked  me  to  lend  him  my  stud-buttons.  I  com- 


plied,  and  my  generosity  moved  him  to  ask  me 
to  tell  "  that  fool  nigger "  after  he  was  gone 
that  he  wanted  her  to  find  his  buttons,  and  to 
"let  them  alone."  thereafter.  I  promptly  re 
fused,  and  asked  him  if  he  was  afraid  to  tell 
her  himself. 

"  Afraid !"  he  said,  with  contempt ;  he  only 
thought  that  as  Patsy  was  already  down  on 
me,  it  might  be  better,  if  we  were  going  to 
continue  to  live  there,  that  she  should  be  kept 
in  a  good-humor  with  at  least  one  of  us  ;  but 
as  to  being  "afraid,"  he  would  show  me  that 
he  always  bossed  his  ranch.  I  heard  Patsy  let 
him  out,  but  he  said  nothing  about  the  buttons. 

The  next  morning  I  was  dressing  in  my  room 
when  I  heard  Relius  talking.  I  looked  in  at 
his  door.  He  was  curled  up  under  the  cover, 
and  his  eyes  were  fast  shut.  He  was  talking, 
I  supposed,  in  his  sleep.  I  listened.  He  was 
saying :  "  Patsy,  I  have  unfortunately  mislaid 
my  stud-buttons.  I  wish  you  would  hunt  for 
them."  The  tone  was  too  placid  to  please  him ; 
he  began  again,  on  a  higher  key  :  "  Patsy,  my 
shirt -studs  have  got  mislaid;  I  want  you  to 
hunt  for  them."  This  did  not  satisfy  him 
either,  and  he  began  again,  quite  sternly : 


"Patsy,  what  in  the  devil  have  you  done  with 
my  shirt-studs?  Get  them  for  me,  and  here 
after  let  them  alo — 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  Patsy  entered, 
silent  as  a  shadow.  Relius  shut  up  like  a 
clam.  Patsy  moved  about,  opened  the  windows, 
lit  the  fire,  and  fixed  his  water.  I  watched 
through  the  crack  of  the  door.  Just  as  she 
was  going  out,  Relius  yawned,  stretched,  and 
opened  his  eyes  as  if  just  waking  up. 

"  Oh,  Patsy,"  he  said,  in  his  softest  and  most 
insinuating  of  tones,  "  if  you  should  happen  to 
come  across  any  shirt-buttons  on  the  floor  to 
day  when  you  are  sweeping,  will  you  please 
put  them  up  on  my  bureau  for  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,''  said  Patsy,  as  she  passed  silently 
out. 

Waiting  breathless,  until  she  must  be  down 
the  stairs,  Relius  shouted  :  "Aha !  did  you  hear 
that?  Who  says  I  am  afraid  of  Patsy?  Do 
you  see  how  I  boss  the  ranch?" 

When  he  learned  that  I  had  seen,  he  bought 
two  sets  of  buttons,  and  gave  me  one. 


THE  PROSECUTION   OF  MRS.  DULLET 

I  WAS  on  a  visit  to  my  friend  Dave  at  his 
mountain  home,  and  was  standing  one  day 
in  the  court-yard  at  Lexby,  the  county-town, 
discussing  the  possibilities  of  his  re-election 
to  the  position  of  commonwealth's  attorney, 
when  down  the  street  came,  at  a  long  gal 
lop,  an  old  fellow  mounted  on  a  thin,  ewe- 
necked,  sorrel  colt,  whose  long  rusty  tail 
whipped  between  his  legs  at  every  jump.  Up 
to  the  court-yard  gate  he  clattered,  and,  dis 
mounting,  flung  the  rein  over  the  post,  in  utter 
disregard  of  the  large  printed  notice  posted 
on  it  that  no  horses  were  to  be  hitched  there. 
Through  the  turnstile  and  up  the  walk  he 
came  swinging. 

"  I  believe  that's  old  Dullet,  from  Jacksbor- 
ough,"  said  Dave.  "  He's  a  man  of  influence 
up  there,  and  dead  against  me, — always  is.  I 
wonder  what  he  wants  ?" 

He  had  not  long  to  wait;  for  the  old  fellow 


71 


strode  up  to  a  group  and  said,  "Whar's  the 
commonwealth's  attorney  ?" 

"  I  am  the  man,"  said  Dave.  "  What  can 
I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Dullet?" 

"  I  wants  you  to  put  my  wife  in  the  pen'- 
tentiary,"  he  said. 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Dave  ;  then  recovered 
himself.  "  What  do  you  want  that  for?" 

"  She's  forged  my  name,  and  she's  got  to 
go  to  the  pen'tentiary,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  tell  me  about  it,"  said  Dave,  seeing 
the  gravity  of  the  situation ;  and,  turning,  he 
led  the  way  into  his  office,  and  offered  chairs. 

"  Well,  it's  this  way  :  My  oldest  gal,  Sairy, 
is  been  a-wantin'  to  marry  a  feller  named 
Torm  Hackle  for  gwine  on  two  years,  and  I 
wouldn't  let  her." 

«  Why  ?"  said  Dave,  in  a  professional  tone, 
drawing  a  pen  and  paper  towards  him. 

"  'Cause  Torm's  on  t'other  side,"  said  Dul 
let. 

"  Oh !''  said  Dave,  writing  down  something. 
"  Go  on." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  let  Torm  come  over  on 
our  side.  I  sont  him  word  ef  he  did  to  look 
out.  And  Sairy  she  got  kind  o'  sick  and 


peaked,  and  my  old  woman  she  wanted  me 
to  do  it  then,  and  I  wouldn't,  'cause  I  had  to 
sign  the  dockiment.  Then  she  got  kinder 
worser,  and  my  wife  she  wanted  me  to  go  for 
the  doctor.  So  day  before  yisticldy  I  went 
down  for  the  doctor,  and  he  said  he'd  come 
to-day,  and  I  stayed  at  Jim  Miggins's  store  all 
night  an'  yistiddy  a-waitin'  for  him ;  an'  when 
I  got  home  last  night,  my  wife  she  said, 
6  Whar's  the  doctor  ?'  And  I  said,  <  He's  a- 
comin'.  How's  Sairy  ?'  And  she  said  :  <  She's 
done  got  well.  She's  got  all  the  doctor  she 
wanted.  She's  done  married  Torm  Hackle.' 
'  How  did  she  done  it,'  says  I,  *  and  I  'ain't 
signed  the  license  ?'  says  I.  '  I  signed  your 
name  for  it,'  says  she.  And  I  said,  '  You  has 
done  commit  a  pen'tentiary  offence,  and  I  kin 
put  you  in  the  pen'tentiary  for  it,'  says  I. 
And  she  bet  me  a  dollar  she  hadn't  and  I 
couldn't ;  and  I  says,  '  I  bet  you  two  dollars 
I  kin  and  I  will,'  says  I.  And  now  I  are 
gwine  to  do  it.  I  kin  do  it,  can't  I  ?" 

Dave  reflected,  while  the  old  mountaineer 
sat  still,  perfectly  passive. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  there  are  not  a 
great  many  precedents."  (The  old  fellow's 


'"YOU   HAS   DONE    COMMIT    A    PENITENTIARY   OFFENCE'" 


73 

face  hardened.)     "  But  of  course,"  he  added, 
"  forgery  is  a  very  serious  thing,  and,  ah — 
(The  old  fellow's  eye  was  upon  him.)     "  How 
long  you  been  married  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Twenty  year  come  next  month." 

Dave  wrote  it  down. 

"  Wife  always  been  good  wife  to  you  ?" 

"'Ain'   got   no  fault   to   find  wid  her  till 
now,  when  she  forged  my  name  an' — " 

"  Ever  have  any  trouble  with  her?" 

"Never  at  all,  'cept,  of  course,  fights  like 
all  married  folks  has." 

Dave  wrote  it  down. 

"  Industrious  ?" 

"  Got  no  fault  to  find  wid  her  about  dat." 

"  Help  you  save  what  you  got  ?" 

"Ain't  a  hard-workin'er,  savin'er   'ooman 
on  the  mountain." 

"  How  many  children  she  got  ?" 

"  Nine — eight  livin'.  I  don't  count  that  one." 

"  How  many  dead  ?" 

"  Four." 

Dave  wrote  laboriously. 

"  Wife  good  to  'em  F 

"Jes  as  good  as  could   be. 
faithful." 


74 

"  Sit  up  with  'em  when  they  were  sick  ?" 

"  Never  went  to  bed  at  all ;  never  took  her 
clothes  off." 

"  Go  hard  with  her  ?" 

"  Went  mighty  hard,  specially  when  Johnny 
died.  He  was  named  after  me." 

Dave  wrote  silently. 

"  Go  hard  with  you  ?" 

"  Right  sort  o'  hard." 

"  Sort  o'  lonesome  after  that  ?" 

"  Mighty  lonesome." 

"  How  old  your  youngest  one  now  ?" 

"  Gwine  on  three ;  that's  Billy." 

"Fond  of  his  mother?" 

"  Can't  bear  her  out  of  his  sight." 

"  Fond  of  you  ?" 

"  Sort  of — right  smart." 

"  Say  Sairy  was  your  oldest  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Thought  right  smart  of  her  when  you 
didn't  have  any  others,  just  at  first,  I  reck 
on?" 

"  Umh.    Might  'a'  done;  don't  remember." 

"  Wife  did,  anyhow  ?" 

"  Yes ;  always  fool  'bout  her.  Oldest- 
see  ?" 


"  She  was  young  and  fresh  then  ?" 

"  Yes ;  likeliest  woman  on  the  mountain." 

"  Bet  she  was !  Used  to  have  good  time 
sitting  up  to  her,  going  to  see  her  summer 
evenings,  walking  through  the  woods  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  did  that." 

"  She  thought  more  of  first  baby  than  you. 
She  had  more  trouble  with  her  than  you— 
when  she  was  a  baby,  I  mean  ?" 

"  Oh  yes !  guess  she  did." 

"  Carried  her  round  in  her  arms,  nursed 
her  when  she  was  sick,  made  her  little  frocks 
for  her?" 

"  Yes." 

"  As  she  did  Johnny's?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  does  little  Billy's  ?" 

"  Yes.  She's  made  Billy  a  little  pair  of 
breeches." 

"  With  pockets  in  them  ?" 

"Yes;  two." 

Dave  laid  down  his  pen,  opened  the  code, 
and  read  a  little  to  himself.  "Well,  I  can 
put  her  in  the  penitentiary  for  you,"  he  said. 
"  'Not  less  than  one  nor  more  than  ten  years,' " 
he  read. 


76 

Dullet  sat  forward  a  little. 

"  How  old  is  your  wife  ?" 

"  'Bout  fifty  year." 

"  I'll  draw  the  indictment.  Let  me  see,  the 
grand  jury  will  meet  when  ?  Then  the  jury  ?" 
He  was  talking  to  himself,  with  his  eyes 
turned  up  to  the  ceiling.  "There  might  be 
some  of  those  Hackles  on  the  jury.  Umh  !  that 
would  be  bad."  (Dullet  twisted  around  in  his 
chair.)  "  They'd  send  her  on  for  the  full  time, 
though — ten  years.  That  would  be  good." 

Dullet  leaned  forward.  "Are  them  Hac 
kles  obleeged  to  be  on  that  jury?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  Dave;  "not  at  all.  Only  they 
may  be  on  there,  that's  all."  He  lifted  his 
eyes  again  to  the  ceiling.  "  That  might  be 
all  the  better.  They'd  of  course  be  pretty 
rough  on  her.  Ten  years.  She'd  be  about 
sixty  when  she  came  out.  Umh  !  They'd 
have  worked  her  pretty  hard  —  let  me  see; 
I  suppose  they'd  put  her  with  the  thieves, 
dress  her  in  stripes,  maybe  whip  her."  (Dul 
let  started  to  give  an  exclamation,  but  stopped 
to  listen.)  "  I  suppose  little  Billy  would  be 
sorry  at  night  at  first,  but  he'd  get  used  to 
it ;  or  he  might  go  down  to  see  her  once  a 


77 


year  or  so,  for  a  few  minutes,  in  his  breeches 
—if  she  lived;  he'd  miss  her  some.  If  she 
died,  she'd  go  to  Johnny.  Well,  the  Hackles 
wouldn't  be  sorry.  Yes,  I  can  do  it,  I  think," 
he  said,  bringing  his  eyes  down  on  Bullet's 
face,  and  speaking  positively. 

Dullet  rose  with  a  jump.  "Look  a -here, 
Mr.  —  Mr.  — What's  -  your  -  name  ? "  he  said. 
"  I'll  just  be  durned  ef  any  of  them  damned 
Hackles  can  put  my  wife  in  the  penitentiary ; 
and  ef  anybody  thinks  they  kin,  let  'em  try 
it!" 

Dave  looked  at  him  calmly.  "  I  agree  with 
you,"  he  said,  "  and  I'll  help  you." 

There  was  a  pause,  in  which  Dullet  was 
reflecting.  Then  he  asked,  "What  would 
you  edvise  me  to  do  ?" 

"  I  don't  advise  you  to  do  anything,"  said 
Dave  ;  "  but  I  know  what  I'd  do  if  I  was  in 
your  place." 

"  What  ?" 

"  I'd  go  home  and  send  for  Sairy  to  come 
over  to  dinner  next  Sunday,  and  tell  her  to 
bring  that  fellow  with  her— he's  more  Dullet. 
now  than  he  is  Hackle  ;  and  every  time  my 
wife  got  uppish  I'd  tell  her  I  could  have  put 


her  in  the  penitentiary  for  ten  years,  but  I 
was  too  good  to  her  to  do  it." 

Dullet  reflected,  and  then  said,  "  I'll  do  it. 
What  does  I  owe  you  ?" 

"  A  good  deal,"  said  Dave ;  "  but  I  want 
you  to  present  it  to  Mrs.  Dullet  for  me." 

"  Well—  He  walked  to  the  door,  paused, 
and  then  said,  slowly,  "  Th'  nex'  time  you 
runs  for  anything,  Jacksborough  is  a-gwine 
to  vote  for  you."  He  went  out. 

Dave  wras  re-elected. 


ONE   FROM   FOUR 

NCE  upon  a  time  there  was 
a  lady  who  was  young, 
beautiful,  accomplished, 
and  very  rich.  She  was 
also  very  clever.  But  her 
most  striking  character 
istic  was  that  she  was  every  atom  a  woman. 
She  had  three  lovers,  who  had  been  college 
cronies.  She  always  spoke  of  them  as  her 
"friends."  There  was  a  fourth  gentleman 
whom  she  knew,  but  by  no  means  so  inti 
mately,  who  was  a  friend  of  the  other  three. 

One  of  the  three  "  friends "  was  tall,  hand 
some,  athletic;  had  languishing  eyes,  a  long 
mustache,  and  a  fine  figure ;  one  was  clever, 
almost  brilliant,  and  what  some  women  call  "in 
tellectual;"  the  third  was  rich,  good-looking, 
and  "  successful." 

None  of  them  had  any  drawback ;  the  first 
was  clever  enough ;  the  second  was  very  good- 


80 


looking,  and,  like  the  first,  was  comfortably 
off;  and  the  third  was  neither  a  fool  nor  un 
read.  All  three  were  considered  good  catches 
by  mammas  who  had  marriageable  daughters, 
and  were  popular. 

The  fourth  gentleman  was  a  silent  man,  who 
kept  his  own  counsel,  went  his  own  gait,  and 
was  thought  to  be  independent  in  his  fortune 
as  he  was  known  to  be  in  his  views. 

After  a  season  in  which  the  young  lady  had 
been  greatly  and  generally  admired,  each  of 
the  three  friends,  having  observed  the  growing 
attachment  of  the  other  two,  discovered  that 
he  was  in  love  with  her ;  each  teased  the  others 
about  her  to  sound  them;  each  denied  the 
charge,  hated  the  others  warmly  for  the  time, 
and  each  decided  to  get  ahead  of  his  friends. 
All  three  made  the  fourth  gentleman  their 
confidant. 

The  society  beau  was  the  first  to  declare 
himself.  He  had  had  the  best  opportunities, 
had  danced  with  the  lady  all  winter ;  had  the 
finest  figure ;  had  been  the  best-dressed  man 
in  the  set ;  had  driven  a  good  team  ;  and  had 
talked  easily  of  Browning's  poems  and  of  Kip 
ling's  stories.  The  occasion  which  presented 


81 


itself  to  him  was  auspicious.  It  was  a  spring 
afternoon  in  the  grounds  of  a  beautiful  coun 
try  place,  where  an  entertainment  was  being 
given  by  a  mutual  friend.  The  spot  was  se 
cluded  ;  the  air  was  balmy ;  the  flowers  were 
dazzling;  the  birds  sang.  He  was  arrayed 
faultlessly,  and  he  and  the  lady  were  alone. 
He  naturally  began  to  talk  love  to  her,  and 
was  about  to  reach  the  point  where  his  voice 
should  grow  deep  and  his  look  intense.  He 
had  told  her  of  her  beauty ;  she  had  listened 
with  a  pleased  smile  and  a  changing  color. 
He  felt  that  he  almost  had  her.  They  were 
at  the  end  of  a  long  flower-bed  blue  with  pan- 
sies,  which  just  matched  her  eyes.  He  stooped 
and  picked  one.  As  he  rose  she  said,  "  A  race 
to  the  other  end  —  you  that  side,  I  this,"  and 
dashed  off.  She  ran  like  a  doe.  He  had  a 
record,  and  could  easily  have  beaten  her,  but 
as  they  approached  the  other  end,  he  saw  that 
her  path  divided  there.  One  fork  ran  off  from 
him,  the  other  turned  into  his.  It  flashed  on 
him  in  a  second :  he  would  let  her  choose  and 
she  would  run  into  his  arms.  She  chose  ;  and 
when  they  returned  to  the  house  he  had  her 
answer.  He  resolved  to  say  nothing  of  it. 


Just  afterwards  the  second  gentleman  found 
his  opportunity.  It  was  after  the  intellectual 
entertainment.  He  had  easily  outshone  all 
others.  She  had  applauded  him  warmly,  and 
had  afterwards  congratulated  him.  He  took 
her  into  the  library.  Old  books  were  about 
them ;  beautiful  pictures  were  on  the  walls ; 
the  light  fell  tempered  to  the  softest  glow. 
He  recognized  his  opportunity.  He  felt  his 
intellect  strong  within  him.  He  approached 
her  skilfully :  he  hinted  at  the  delights  of  the 
union  of  two  minds  perfectly  attuned ;  he  il 
lustrated  aptly  by  a  reference  to  the  harmony 
just  heard  and  to  numerous  instances  in  liter 
ature.  He  talked  of  the  charm  of  culture; 
spoke  confidently  of  his  preferment ;  suggest 
ed,  without  appearing  to  do  so,  his  fortunate 
advantages  over  others,  and  referred,  with 
some  contempt,  to  commonplace  men  like  the 
fourth  gentleman.  He  praised  her  intellect. 
Her  eye  kindled ;  her  form  trembled  ;  he  felt 
his  influence  over  her.  He  repeated  a  poem 
he  had  written  her.  It  was  good  enough  to 
have  been  published  in  a  magazine.  Her  face 
glowed.  He  glanced  up,  caught  her  eye,  and 
held  his  hand  ready  to  receive  hers.  She  lifted 


83 


her  hand,  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  he  had  his 
answer.  They  strolled  back,  and  he  deter 
mined  to  keep  it  all  a  secret.  Passing,  they 
happened  upon  the  third  gentleman,  who  spoke 
to  her ;  and  No.  2  a  moment  later  left  her  Avith 
him. 

He  led  the  way  into  a  little  apartment  just 
by.  It  seemed  to  have  escaped  the  notice  of 
the  guests.  It  was  sumptuously  fitted  up  for 
a  tete-a-tete.  Wealth  and  taste  had  combined 
to  make  it  perfect.  She  exclaimed  with  pleas 
ure  at  its  beauty.  After  handing  her  a  chair 
as  luxurious  as  art  could  make  it,  the  gentleman 
began.  He  told  of  his  home ;  of  his  enterprise ; 
of  his  success ;  of  his  wealth.  It  had  doubled 
year  after  year.  It  was  hers.  He  laid  before 
her  his  plans.  They  were  large  enough  to  be 
bewildering.  She  would  be  the  richest  wom 
an  in  her  acquaintance.  She  could  be  an  angel 
with  it.  With  mantling  cheek  and  glowing 
face  she  bent  towards  him.  "It  is  yours," 
he  said  ;  "  all  yours.  You  will  be  worth — ' 
He  paused,  then  stated  the  sum.  She  leaned 
towards  him  with  an  earnest  gesture,  her 
voice  trembling  as  she  spoke.  He  had  his  an 
swer. 


84 

As  they  passed  out  through  the  corridor 
they  met  the  fourth  gentleman.  He  did  not 
speak.  He  stood  aside  to  let  them  pass.  Pie 
glanced  at  her  lover,  but  if  he  looked  at  her, 
she  did  not  see  it.  He  was  evidently  leaving. 

"  Are  you  going  ?"  she  said,  casually,  as  she 
passed. 

"  Yes." 

"  Is  it  late  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

She  paused,  and  her  lover  politely  passed 
on. 

"  Why  are  you  going,  then  ?" 

"  Because  I  wish  to  go." 

"Will  you  take  me  to  my  chaperon?" 

"  With  pleasure." 

"  With  pleasure  ?" 

"  With  great  pleasure." 

"  You  are  not  very  civil." 

"  I  had  not  intended  to  be." 

"  Do  you  think—" 

"Sometimes.  This  evening,  for  instance. 
There  is  your  chaperon." 

"I  did  not  think  you—" 

"So  I  supposed.  You  made  a  mistake. 
Good-bye." 


BUYING   THE    WEDDING-RING 


85 


«  Good-bye  ?" 

"  Yes.     Good-bye." 

The  wedding-cards  of  the  young  lady  were 
issued  within  a  few  weeks,  and  ten  days  later 
she  was  married.  In  the  press  accounts  of  the 
wedding  the  bride  was  spoken  of  as  "  beauti 
ful,  accomplished,  clever,  good,  and  wise."  And 
the  groom  was  described  as  "  handsome,  sty 
lish,  intellectual,  and  wealthy." 

Some  people  said  they  always  thought  she 
would  have  married  differently ;  some  said 
they  always  knew  she  would  marry  just  as 
she  did.  (These  were  mostly  women.)  She 
herself  said  that  she  made  up  her  mind  sud 
denly. 


THE    DANGER    OF   BEING   TOO 
THOROUGH 

WE  had  been  discussing  thoroughness. 
"  Now  I  tell  you  there's  such  a  thing  as  being 
too  thorough,"  said  the  Judge.  "When  I  first 
went  on  the  bench,  I  determined  to  plumb  the 
law  every  time.  One  of  the  first  cases  that 
came  up  before  me  was  a  suit,  in  one  of  my 
upper  counties,  for  divorce,  brought  by  a  wife 
against  her  husband.  The  pleadings  were  all 
right,  and  the  proof  was  clear — so  clear,  in 
deed,  that  although  the  defendant  contested 
strongly,  I  became  satisfied  that  there  was 
collusion,  and  dismissed  the  suit.  It  created 
a  sensation.  I  reached  home  feeling  very 
virtuous.  I  was  sitting  on  the  veranda  next 
day  reading,  when  a  man,  evidently  a  country 
man,  rode  up  on  a  thin  mule,  and,  hitching  it 
to  the  fence,  came  in  at  the  gate.  I  recog 
nized  the  defendant  in  the  divorce  suit.  Pie 
was  dressed  in  his  '  Sunday  best,'  capped  by 


87 

an  old  beaver,  and  was  carrying  a  pair  of 
saddle-bags  over  his  arm.  I  invited  him  to 
take  a  seat,  and  he  at  once  began,  calling  me 
'  your  Honor.' 

"  '  Your  Honor,'  he  said,  *  I  came  to  see  you 
about  that  divorce  suit.' 

"'Well,  what  about  it?'  I  asked,  sharp 
ly,  getting  ready  to  pitch  into  him  ;  but  he 
was  so  meek  I  held  up.  He  just  shook  his 
head. 

;' ;  Your  Honor,  that  was  the  cruelest  decree 
your  Honor  ever  made.  You  didn't  know 
about  it,  or  your  Honor  wouldn't  'a'  done  it. 
Why,  your  Honor,  all  that  fuss  I  made  was 
jist  put  on.  I  wanted  it  jist  as  bad  as  my 
wife.  Why,  we  had  arranged  everything,  and 
we  was  both  ready  to  git  married  ag'in  directly. 
We  was  agoin'  to  have  a  double  wedding. 
She  was  agoin'  to  marry  a  sto'keeper  what 
makes  three  hundred  dollars  a  year,  and  I 
was  agoin'  to  marry  a  lady  as  has  considerable 
propity.  She  is  got  a  hundred  and  twenty- 
three  acres  o'  Ian',  and  two  cows,  and  a  hoss. 
She  broke  off  one  engagement  to  marry  me,  and 
the  man  is  a-suin'  her  for  breach,  and  now  she 
is  agoin'  to  sue  me  for  breach  too,  and  I  don't 


88 

know  what  to  do.'  And  neither  did  I,"  said  the 
Judge :  "  I  could  hear  my  wife  giggling  inside." 

"  I  once  made  a  mistake  myself  by  trying 
to  be  very  thorough,"  said  the  Governor,  shut 
ting  his  teeth  down  on  his  Habana,  and  clos 
ing  his  eyes  retrospectively. 

"  When  was  it  ?"  we  asked. 

"Not  so  long  ago,"  said  the  Governor. 
"  Does  any  of  you  think  I  look  like  a  felon  ?" 
he  asked.  The  replies  were  not  unanimous. 
"  Well,  I  was  arrested  as  one  within  the  last 
two  years,"  he  said.  .  "  When  I  came  into  the 
governorship  I  thought  I  would  be  very  thor 
ough,  and  one  of  the  first  things  I  investi 
gated  was  the  convict-system.  The  newspa 
pers  said  I  had  made  promises  that  I  would 
give  honest  labor  a  show.  Perhaps  I  had.  So 
one  day  I  slipped  off  by  myself  and  went  up 
to  the  mines  to  see  how  the  thing  was  being 
worked  when  no  one  was  expected.  The 
charge  had  been  made  that  the  lessees  ran 
things  very  differently  when  an  investigating 
committee  was  expected  from  the  way  they 
usually  ran  them,  and  that  ordinarily  the 
treatment  was  very  harsh.  I  intended  to  go 
down  into  the  mines,  and  I  put  on  an  old 


89 


suit  of  clothes  in  which  I  used  to  hunt  occasion 
ally.  They  were  torn  and  muddy,  and  I  con 
gratulated  myself  that  no  one  would  know  me. 

"  In  the  pockets  were  all  sorts  of  odds  and 
ends,  such  as  string,  wire,  a  knife,  nippers,  etc. 
I  got  the  conductor  to  let  me  off  the  train  at 
a  crossing,  and  walked  a  mile  or  two  up  to  the 
mines.  As  I  got  near  them,  thinking  I  would 
look  over  the  ground  before  going  out  into 
the  cleared  space,  I  turned  out  of  the  path 
and  struck  up  the  hill  through  the  brush.  I 
took  a  survey,  and  saw  a  small  group  of  men 
around  a  fire,  one  or  two  of  them  convicts, 
one  or  two,  perhaps,  visitors,  and  one  a  guard 
with  a  double-barrelled  shot-gun  across  his  arm. 
I  was  thinking  of  going  down,  and  took  a  step 
or  two,  when  some  one  behind  me  said,  '  Hold 
on ;  come  back  here.'  I  turned,  and  there, 
thirty  steps  from  me  was  a  guard,  an  ugly  old 
fellow,  long  and  bony,  standing  with  his  shot 
gun  across  his  arm.  '  What  do  you  want  ?'  I 
asked. 

"  '  I  wants  you,'  he  said,  '  and  I  wants  you 
quick.  Come  here.' 

"  I  went  over,  moved  rather  by  curiosity. 
•  Well,  what  do  you  want  with  me  ?' 


90 

"  i  I'm  goin'  to  take  you  to  the  warden,'  he 
said. 

"  i  But  I  won't  go,'  I  said.  'I  don't  want  to 
go  to  the  warden,  and  I  won't  go.' 

"  'You  won't?  Well,  we'll  see  if  you  won't. 
If  you  don't,  you'll  git  a  load  o'  buckshot  in 
you,'  he  said,  dropping  his  gun,  and  pulling 
back  the  hammer  slowly. 

"  I  saw  that  he  had  me,  and  I  determined  to 
explain.  '  I  am  a  visitor  up  here,'  I  said. 

" '  Yes,  no  doubt ;  that's  why  I  wants  you. 
I  wants  you  to  finish  out  your  visit.  We  can't 
bar  to  part  with  you.  Walk  along  thar.' 


"'  But— 'I  began. 


" i  But  nothing,'  said  he ;  '  you  don't  want  no 
"  but "  but  this,'  and  he  gave  me  a  crack  with 
the  butt  of  his  gun  which  nearly  knocked  me 
over.  '  March  on.' 

" '  Look  here ;  I'm  the  Governor  of  the  State,' 
said  I,  trying  to  look  imposing. 

"He  looked  at  me  quizzically.  'You're  a 
pretty-looking  Gov'nor,  ain't  you?'  said  he. 
'  Well,  Gov'nor,  I'm  glad  to  see  you ;  I'm 
gwine  to  help  you  finish  out  yo'  term.  Walk 
along  thar  and  shet  up  yer  jaw.  I'm  gittin' 
kinder  tired  on  it,  and  I've  a  good  mind  to  let 


.- 


m 


' 


"  SOME   OXE   BEHIND   ME   SAID  '  HOLD   ON  !'  " 


91 


you  have  a  load  of  buckshot  anyways,  jest  to 
teach  you  manners.' 

"  Well,  that  old  fellow  marched  me  down, 
and  made  a  convict  go  through  my  clothes. 
The  things  in  my  pockets  were  proof  positive 
of  my  guilt,  of  course,  and  you  never  heard 
such  a  lambasting  as  he  gave  me  in  your  life, 
all  the  time  keeping  a  running  fire  at  me,  ask 
ing  what  I  was  '  in  for,'  etc.  The  circumstan 
tial  evidence  was  that  I  was  a  burglar,  but 
they  all  agreed  I  looked  like  a  pickpocket, 
and  one  man  even  suggested  that  I  had 
picked  a  burglar's  pocket.  That  was  the  worst 
of  all.  Then  he  marched  me  off  to  the 
warden/' 

"  What  became  of  the  guard  ?''  asked  one. 

"  He's  my  manager  on  my  farm,"  said  the 
Governor,  "and  he  still  makes  me  march 
straight." 


UNCLE  JACK'S  VIEWS  OF  GEOGRAPHY 


HEIST  the  war  ended  and  the 
negroes  were  free  there  was 
a  great  enthusiasm  for  educat 
ing  them.  One  of  the  first 
schools  started  was  built  on 
the  edge  of  his  place  by  Colo 
nel  Trigg,  who  got  a  little 
"  school-marm,"  as  they  were  termed,  to  come 
down  and  teach  it.  It  was  soon  filled  by  the 
colored  population,  the  pupils  ranging  from 
five  to  seventy-five  years,  all  studying  "a-b 
ab,  e-b  eb."  Even  "Uncle  Jack  Scott,"  the 
colonel's  head  man,  one  of  the  "old-timers," 
went  in,  and  was  transferred  from  the  stable 
to  the  school-room.  The  colonel  fumed  about 
it ;  but  it  was  laid  to  the  door  of  Uncle  Jack's 
new  wife,  "  Mrs.  Scott,"  who  was  a  "  citified  " 
lady,  and  had  many  airs.  Uncle  Jack  was  an 
acquisition  to  the  school,  and  was  given  a 
prominent  position  by  the  stove,  the  little 


93 


school-mistress  paying  him  especial  attention, 
putting  him  through  his  "a-b  ab's  and  e-b 
eb's"  with  much  pride,  and  holding  him  up  to 
her  younger  scholars  as  a  shining  example. 
A  few  days  later  Uncle  Jack  appeared,  armed 
with  a  long  hickory  switch,  which  he  pre 
sented  to  the  teacher  with  a  remark  about 
"  lazy  niggers  needin'  hick'ry  's  much 's  bread," 
and  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  the  whole 
school.  Miss  Barr  (called  "Bear"  by  Mrs. 
Scott)  took  the  hickory  with  visible  emotion, 
made  a  speech  to  the  school  upon  Uncle  Jack's 
wisdom  and  appreciation  of  educational  ad 
vantages,  and  Uncle  Jack,  with  much  gran 
deur,  went  to  his  task.  The  lesson  that  day 
was  "  b-a  ba,  b-e  be."  Unhappily,  Uncle  Jack 
had  learned  aa-b  ab,  e-b  eb"  too  well,  and 
b  and  a  were  never  anything  but  ab,  and  b 
and  e  never  anything  but  eb,  no  matter  in 
what  order  they  came.  Miss  Barr  was  at 
her  wits'  end.  She  had  established  her  rules, 
and  she  stood  by  them.  Had  she  believed  it 
her  duty,  she  would  have  gone  to  perdition 
without  a  tremor.  One  of  her  most  invariable 
rules  was  to  thrash  for  missing  lessons.  AVhen 
Uncle  Jack  missed  his  lesson  two  days  hand- 


running,  she  was  in  despair ;  but  discipline  was 
to  be  preserved,  and  after  hours  of  painful  sus 
pense,  when  he  still  failed,  she  ordered  him  to 
stand  up.  He  obeyed.  She  glanced  around, 
seeking  some  alternative ;  fifty  pairs  of  eyes 
were  fastened  upon  her.  She  reached  under 
her  desk,  and  slowly  drew  out  a  hickory,  the 
very  one  Uncle  Jack  had  brought  her.  Fifty 
pairs  of  eyes  showed  their  whites. 

"  Take  off  your  coat." 

There  was  a  gasp  throughout  the  room. 

Uncle  Jack  paused  a  moment  as  if  stupefied, 
then  laid  down  his  book  and  took  off  his  coat. 

"  Take  off  your  waistcoat." 

He  obeyed. 

"  You  ain't  gwine  meek  me  teck  off  my  shirt, 
is  you?"  he  asked,  tremulously. 

"  No.     Clasp  your  hands." 

He  did  so,  and  she  raised  the  hickory  and 
brought  it  down  "  swauo "  across  his  back. 
Again  there  was  a  gasp  throughout  the  room, 
which  came  every  time  a  lick  was  given.  Un 
cle  Jack  was  the  only  one  who  uttered  no 
sound.  He  stood  like  a  statue.  When  she 
finished,  he  put  on  his  coat  and  sat  down. 
School  was  dismissed. 


' TAKE    OFF    TOUR    COAT  '  " 


95 

Next  day  Uncle  Jack  was  at  his  old  place  at 
the  stable. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  were  at  school  ?"  said 
his  master,  who  had  heard  something  of  the 
trouble. 

"  JSTor,  suh  ;  I  got  'nough  edication,"  he  said. 
He  stuck  his  curry-comb  into  his  brush.  There 
was  a  pause ;  then :  "  I  tell  you  de  fac',  Marse 
Conn.  I  is  too  ole  to  be  whupt  by  a  ooman, 
an'  a  po'  white  ooman  at  dat." 

It  was  several  years  after  this  that  Uncle 
Jack  was  working  one  day  at  a  water-gate 
in  a  field,  when  the  children  came  down  the 
road  from  school.  They  stopped  and  peeped 
stolidly  through  the  fence.  Among  them  was 
"  Jawnie,"  Mrs.  Scott's  hopeful,  who  had  proved 
an  apter  scholar  than  his  father.  His  bag  was 
on  his  arm.  He  climbed  over  the  fence,  and 
from  the  bank  gazed  down  apathetically  at 
his  father  in  the  water  below.  Presently  he 
said: 

"  Or,  poppa,  de  teacher  say  you  mus'  git  me 
a  geography." 

Uncle  Jack's  jaw  set.  He  dug  on  as  if  he 
had  not  heard.  Then  he  repeated  to  himself : 
"  Geog'aphy — geography.  Marse  Conn,  whut 


is  dat  ?  Whut  is  a  geog'aphy  ?"  he  asked,  look 
ing  up  at  his  employer,  who  happened  to  be  by. 

"  A  geography  ?"  said  the  Colonel.  "  Why,  a 
geography  is  a — is  a  book — a  book  that  tells 
about  places,  and  where  they  are,  and  so  on." 
He  gave  a  comprehensive  sweep  with  his  arm 
around  the  horizon. 

"  Yas,  suh ;  now  I  onderstands,"  said  Jack, 
going  back  to  digging. 

Presently  he  stopped,  and  looked  up  at  "  Jaw- 
nie."  "  I  say,  boy,  you  tell  de  teacher  I  say 
you  better  stick  to  you'  a-b  ab's  an'  you'  e-b 
eb's,  an'  let  geog'aphy  alone.  You  knows  de 
way  now  to  de  spring  an'  de  wood-pile  an'  de 
mill,  an'  when  you  gits  a  little  bigger  I's  gwine 
to  show  you  de  way  to  de  hoe-handle  an'  de 
cawn-furrer,  an'  dat's  all  de  geog'aphy  a  nig 
ger's  got  to  know." 

He  dug  on. 


BILLINGTON'S   VALENTINE 

IT  was  St.  Valentine's  day,  and,  owing  to  an 
engagement  to  go  duck -shooting,  Billington 
had  taken  a  holiday.  The  storm  had,  however, 
broken  up  the  shooting,  and  Billington  was 
now  seated  in  the  sitting-room  of  his  apart 
ments,  alone  except  for  his  own  thoughts. 
The  rain  outside  spattering  in  fitful  showers 
against  the  windows,  and  the  fact  that  all  his 
bets  had  gone  wrong  for  several  days  past, 
had  inclined  him  to  be  serious,  and  two  valen 
tines  he  had  just  received  completed  the  work. 

For  an  hour  he  had  been  engaged  in  that 
dismal  occupation  of  looking  himself  squarely 
in  the  face. 

Both  presents  were  cigar-cases,  and  the  mes 
sages  on  the  two  cards  were  identical — simply 
these  words :  "  From  St.  Valentine."  One  of 
the  cases  was  solid  silver,  exquisitely  chased, 
and  engraved  with  Billington's  crest  and  coat 
of  arms ;  the  other  was  simply  two  bits  of 


98 


flexible  card-board  covered  and  bound  together 
with  a  piece  of  old  brocade,  on  which  was  em 
broidered  a  sprig  of  apple  blossoms. 

"  I  wish  I  had  the  courage,"  said  Billington, 
for  the  twentieth  time.  He  half  turned  and 
looked  at  the  two  cases,  and  presently  stretched 
out  his  arm  lazily  to  take  up  one  of  them.  At 
first,  his  hand  hovered  over  the  embroidered 
one,  but  the  beautiful  chasing  on  the  other 
struck  him,  and  he  leaned  over  and  took  up 
that.  "Very  handsome,"  he  said  to  himself, 
inspecting  it.  u  That  girl  has  a  great  deal  of 
taste.  So  that  was  the  reason  she  wanted  to 
see  my  coat  of  arms."  He  reached  over  and 
put  the  case  down  carefully,  and  after  a  sec 
ond's  reflection  picked  up  the  other.  "  That's 
a  really  lovely  thing,"  he  said;  "those  apple 
blossoms  are  perfect.  She  made  that  her 
self,  and — by  Jove,  that's  a  piece  of  the  old 
dress  she  wore  that  night  at  the  Valentine 
ball  ten  years  ago!"  He  leaned  his  head  back 
and  shut  his  eyes.  "  Lord !  Lord !  How  sweet 
she  was  that  night !"  he  said,  with  his  eyes 
still  shut.  "  She  seventeen,  and  I  twenty-five. 
I  remember  I  told  her  she  had  the  spirit  of  her 
great-grandmother  in  her,  and  she  said,  No,  she 


had  only  her  dress  on  her.  I  remember  I  did 
not  have  the  money  to  buy  her  flowers,  and  I 
went  and  found  her  a  bunch  of  apple  blossoms 
that  had  come  out  in  the  warm  spell.  I  told 
her  it  was  a  miracle  performed  for  her;  and 
they  were  the  only  flowers  she  wore.  I  did 
not  ask  her  to  marry  me,  because  I  did  not  feel 
that  I  had  a  right  to  do  it  till  I  could  support 
her ;  and  then  I  came  off  to  New  York  to— 
get  able."  Here  he  stopped,  and  his  counte 
nance  changed. 

"  Well,  I  got  her  the  place  at  the  Institute," 
he  said,  in  a  defensive  tone.  Once  more  he 
leaned  his  head  back.  "  Let  me  see ;  what  was 
the  old  rhyme  I  repeated  to  her  that  night  \ 

'Roses  are  red,  violets  are  blue, 
Pinks  are  sweet,  and  so  are  you.' 

And  that  other  ? 

'Tumdy,  turndy,  tumdy  tine.' 
Ah  !  this  is  it : 

'  As  sure  as  the  bloom  grows  on  the  vine, 
I'll  choose  you  for  my  Valentine.'" 

He  lapsed  into  silence,  and  after  a  second 


100 


got  up  slowly,  and  walked  about  the  room 
with  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets.  Catching 
sight  of  himself  in  a  mirror,  he  stopped  and 
gazed  at  himself  earnestly.  "  What  a  cursed 
ugly  thing  a  man  is!"  he  said,  turning  away. 
He  flung  himself  into  his  chair  again,  and  re 
tired  within  himself  once  more.  Suddenly  he 
sat  up.  "  By  Jove,  I'll  do  it !"  he  said.  "  In 
five  years  I  won't  be  fit  for  any  woman  to 
have." 

He  reached  over  and  took  a  sheet  of  paper 
and  a  pen;  dipped  his  pen  in  his  silver  ink 
stand,  and  with  a  look  of  determination  on  his 
face  squared  himself  to  write.  "  St.  Valen 
tine's  day,"  he  began,  and  paused.  A  look  of 
perplexity  came  on  his  face,  which  deepened 
into  one  of  worry.  He  laid  the  pen  down. 
"Which  one?"  he  said  to  himself,  half  audi 
bly.  He  looked  into  the  fire.  "  Oh,  hang  it ! 
I'll  write  a  valentine,"  he  said  ;  and  dipping 
the  pen  into  the  ink  again,  he  began  to  write 
briskly : 

"My  patron  saint,  St.  Valentine, 
Why  dost  thou  leave  me  to  repine, 
Still  supplicating  at  her  shrine? 


"  '  I    FOUND    HER    A    BUNCH   OP   APPLE    BLOSSOMS 


"But  bid  her  eyes  to  me  incline, 
I'll  ask  no  other  sun  to  shine, 
More  rich  than  is  Golconda's  mine. 

"Range  all  that  woman,  song,  or  wine 
Can  give ;  wealth,  power,  and  fame  combine  ; 
For  her  I'd  gladly  all  resign. 

"  Take  all  the  pearls  are  in  the  brine, 
Sift  heaven  for  stars,  earth's  flowers  entwine, 
But  be  her  heart  my  Valentine." 

Here  he  stopped  and  read  it  over.  "  That's 
pretty  good  for  an  off-hand  effort,"  he  said  to 
himself.  He  read  it  over  again.  "  <  More  rich 
than  is  Golconda's  mine,'  "  he  repeated.  "  I 
wonder  if  that  could  be  considered  personal  ? 
4  For  her  I'd  gladly  all  resign,'  "  he  read.  "  By 
Jove,  this  would  do  for  either."  He  leaned 
back,  and  the  same  expression  his  face  had 
worn  a  little  while  before  came  back  on  it. 
Suddenly,  with  a  growl,  he  sat  up  and  began 
again;  but  his  pen  would  no  longer  go.  Only 
the  old  rhyme  rang  in  his  head : 

"  Roses  are  red,  violets  are  blue, 
Pinks  are  sweet,  and  so  are  you." 

He  picked  up  the  embroidered  case  and 


looked  at  it.  As  he  did  so  he  seemed  to  catch 
a  faint  odor  of  apple  blossoms,  and  he  actually 
lifted  the  case  to  his  face  to  see  if  it  were  only 
fancy.  Ah,  if  he  had  only  had  then  a  fourth 
of  what  he  had  now,  how  different  it  might 
have  been!  Now  he  made  ten  thousand  a 
year,  but  wanted  fifty  thousand.  He  put  the 
case  down  and  picked  up  the  silver  one.  Fifty 
thousand !  Horses,  equipages,  books,  paint 
ings,  travel,  honors  —  everything  almost  —  ex 
cept  the  perfume  of  those  apple  blossoms.  He 
laid  the  case  down  and  took  up  his  pen.  He 
had  in  mind  such  rhymes  as  "  line,"  "  thine ;" 
"  resign,"  "  entwine  ;"  but  the  old  verse, 

"As  sure  as  the  bloom  grows  on  the  vine, 
I'll  choose  you  for  my  Valentine," 

drove  out  all  others.  Once  more  there  came 
that  subtile  perfume  of  the  apple  blossoms. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  sudden  lighting  up.  He 
gazed  out  of  the  window,  and  became  aware 
that  the  rain  had  stopped  and  the  sun  was 
shining. 

"  Oh,  hang  it !"  he  said,  "  I'll  go  to  walk." 
He  folded  up  his  valentine,  and,  putting  it  into 
an  envelope,  he  placed  it  in  his  pocket  unad- 


103 


dressed.  He  went  out,  and  strolled  up  the 
Avenue,  looking  at  the  pretty  girls  whom  the 
sunshine  had  brought  out  like  so  many  flow 
ers.  Presently,  he  stepped  into  a  florist's  and 
bought  a  large  bunch  of  glorious  roses,  great 
rich,  crimson  buds  with  long  stems,  each  fit  for 
a  princess  to  wear.  He  paid  for  them,  and 
gave  the  address  to  which  he  wished  them 
sent.  The  price,  he  thought,  half  grimly,  was 
more  than  his  month's  board  used  to  cost. 
This  almost  interfered  with  the  other  thought 
that  twenty -five  dollars  was  a  small  matter 
with  him  now.  He  took  out  the  valentine, 
and  picked  up  a  pen  to  address  it ;  but  put  it 
back  into  his  pocket  again  unaddressed,  and 
continued  his  stroll,  bowing  to  men,  and  bow 
ing  and  smiling  to  girls  he  met.  He  went  on 
into  the  Park.  There  was  a  faint  hint  of 
green  in  some  favored  spots,  and,  to  his  sur 
prise,  as  he  passed  on,  he  came  on  a  little  bush 
in  blossom  —  an  apple  bush.  It  grew  in  a 
sunny  nook  sheltered  from  the  north,  and  by 
one  of  those  freaks  of  nature,  in  the  warm 
humid  days  that  had  come  it  had  been  dream 
ing  of  the  spring,  and  one  bough  had  blown 
into  full  bloom.  Billington  stopped  with  a 


104 


sudden  thrill  of  pleased  surprise,  and,  climbing 
down  the  bank,  he  broke  off  the  apple  bough 
— his  pleasure  rather  heightened  by  the  reflec 
tion  that  a  policeman  might  arrest  him  :  it  re 
minded  him  of  his  boyhood. 

As  he  strolled  back  down  the  Avenue  the 
side-walks  were  gay  with  walkers,  and  showy 
equipages  with  fine  horses  and  pompous  coach 
men  rolled  by  with  all  the  livery  of  wealth. 
Billington  was  just  admiring  a  handsome  pair 
of  strange  sorrels  to  a  new  brougham,  when 
he  became  aware  that  the  coachman  was  draw 
ing  up  to  him.  He  looked  at  the  carriage,  and 
in  it  sat  one  of  the  subjects  of  his  thoughts 
that  morning.  She  had  never  looked  hand 
somer,  and  when  she  gave  him  her  daintily 
gloved  hand  with  a  cordial  pressure,  Billington 
had  never  liked  her  better. 

"  I  never  saw  such  an  abstracted  air,"  she 
laughed.  "  I  really  thought  you  were  not  go 
ing  to  speak  to  me." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  you  at  the  time — I  be 
lieve,"  said  Billington,  wondering  if  only  a 
part  of  the  truth  were  not  a  lie.  He  condoned 
with  his  conscience  by  adding  a  whole  truth. 
"  I  was  just  wondering  whose  turnout  this 


105 

was,  and  thinking  it  the  handsomest  on  the 
Avenue." 

" Isn't  it  lovely!"  she  said.  "Papa  gave  it 
to  me  as  a  valentine.  Aren't  those  sorrels 
darlings  ?"  Billington  could  truthfully  say 
that  they  were.  He  was  reminded  of  the  card- 
case,  and  he  thanked  her  very  warmly,  and 
was  pleased  to  see  the  color  deepen  in  her 
face.  She  did  not  often  color. 

"  You  will  find  a  valentine  for  you  at  home 
when  you  get  back,  I  suspect,"  he  said. 

"  What  is  it?"  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"  The  only  thing  in  town  worthy  of  your 
acceptance  after  those  horses,"  said  Billing- 
ton. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  she  said,  with 
more  coyness  in  her  manner  than  she  often 
showed.  Billington  wished  he  had  sent  the 
verses  along  with  the  roses. 

"Don't  you  want  to  take  a  little  drive  in 
the  Park?"  she  asked,  moving  her  seal -skin 
robe  a  little.  Billington  was  just  going  to  say 
that  nothing  would  give  him  more  pleasure, 
when,  glancing  up,  he  saw  one  whom  he  had 
not  seen  for  quite  a  little  while,  but  who  had 
been  in  his  thoughts  oftener  than  once  that 


106 


morning.  She  was  not  strolling  at  the  holi 
day  pace  of  the  richly  dressed  throng  of  pleas 
ure-seekers,  but  was  tripping  along  at  a  most 
business-like  gait,  threading  her  way  in  and  out 
among  the  saunterers.  As  she  passed  Billing- 
ton  she  glanced  up  and  saw  him,  and  a  smile 
of  recognition  lit  up  her  face. 

"  Good-morning,"  she  smiled,  and  tripped  on. 

"What  a  very  pretty  woman !"  said  the  girl 
in  the  carriage.  "  And  such  a  pretty  frock 
and  hat  too  !  Who  is  she  ?" 

"  She  is  a  young  artist,"  said  Billington,  still 
following  with  his  eye  the  neat,  trim  figure 
working  its  way  along  through  the  throng  on 
the  sidewalk.  "  I  have  known  her  a  long 
time."  "  For  her  I'd  gladly  all  resign,"  sprang 
a  verse  into  his  mind. 

"Can  she  paint?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  Ah — really,  I  don't  believe  I  know,"  said 
Billington.  "I  know  she  has  ability." 

"  "Well,  come  on,  get  in,"  she  said,  moving, 
and  making  room  for  him  beside  her. 

"Ah — no,  I  believe  I  can't  go,"  said  Billing 
ton.  "  I'd  like  to  do  so  some  other  time,  but 
I  have  been  to  the  Park,  and  I  have  to  go 
down  and  attend  to  a  matter.  Good-bye." 


107 

"  Good-bye  ;  I  hope  to  see  you  soon.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  this  evening?  Why  not 
come  home  to  dinner  with  us  ?" 

The  impatient  horses  started  off  too  quickly 
for  Billington  to  speak  his  reply,  so  he  simply 
smiled  and  bowed  it  after  her. 

He  looked  down  the  Avenue,  but  could  not 
see  the  person  he  was  looking  for ;  when  the 
carriage  drew  off  his  attention,  he  had  lost 
her.  He  was  just  about  to  curse  his  luck, 
when  he  caught  sight  of  her  again  crossing 
the  street.  The  next  minute  Billington  was 
spinning  down  the  street.  The  light  that  came 
into  her  face  and  the  pleased  tone  in  her  voice 
when  he  overtook  her  made  a  warm,  glow 
come  about  his  heart. 

"  I  thought  I  had  lost  you,"  he  said,  almost 
out  of  breath. 

"I  did  not  think  you  wished  not  to,"  she 
answered,  with  a  look  half  mischief,  half  in 
quiry.  "  Wasn't  that  Miss  Yan  Sheckeldt  ?" 

"Yes ;"  and  to  prevent  further  investi 
gation  he  said,  "  Won't  you  let  me  give  you 
these  ?"  He  handed  her  the  apple  blossoms. 

"  Oh,  how  lovely !"  she  exclaimed  as  she 
took  them.  "  Apple  blossoms,  upon  my  word ! 


108 


Where  on  earth  did  you  get  them?"  She  was 
holding  them  off  and  turning  them  around  at 
arm's-length  to  admire  them.  "  I  wanted  just 
these  very  things  to  finish  a  painting  I  am  on 
of  '  Spring  Captive.'  Do  you  know,  I  believe 
you  can  perform  miracles  ?" 

"I  don't  see  that  you  needed  them,"  said 
Billington.  "  You  can  create  them.  Do  you 
know  that  your  needle  has  the  soul  of  an  art 
ist  in  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  am  glad  you  think  so, 
though.  I  was  afraid  I  had  not  got  them  ex 
actly  right,  and  I  wanted  them  to  be  just 
right.  I  wanted  to  show  my  appreciation  of 
all  your  kindness  to  me  since  we  have  known 
each  other." 

Billington  felt  a  good  deal  more  than  he 
said,  and  more  than  he  hoped  he  showed. 

She  broke  off  a  sprig  of  the  blossoms  and 
placed  it  in  her  bosom.  The  act  and  the  un 
conscious  grace  with  which  she  did  it  carried 
him  back  ten  years.  The  perfume  of  the  blos 
soms  stole  in  upon  his  senses. 

"Won't  you  go  to  walk  with  me?"  he  asked 
her,  earnestly. 

"  Oh,  I'd  like  to  do  it,  but  I  cannot.    I  have 


109 


mj  class.  You  know  I  am  a  teacher  now," 
she  said,  proudly.  "  The  place  you  got  me  has 
done  everything  for  me,  and  the  prize  I  got 
enabled  me  to  get  the  place  I  have.  Well, 
here's  my  place.  By-the- way,  Miss  Yan  Sheck- 
eldt's  father  is  the  new  trustee.  Good-bye.'' 

She  had  shaken  hands  with  him  and  was 
gone  up  the  steps  before  Billington  was  aware 
that  it  was  beginning  to  shower.  Billington 
strolled  across  to  the  flower-shop  to  get  out  of 
the  rain,  but  just  as  he  reached  the  door  some 
one  called  him.  He  turned  as  Miss  Yan  Sheck- 
eldt's  carriage  rolled  up. 

"  Let  me  take  you  home,"  she  said.  "  I 
caught  you !  Whom  were  you  going  to  order 
flowers  for  ?"  she  asked,  laughing. 

"For  no  one;  they  are  ordered,"  he  said; 
"  and  remember,  they  were  ordered  before  I 
saw  you  this  morning." 

"  Come  and  confide  in  me,  and  save  the  gloss 
on  that  immaculate  hat,"  she  said ;  and  Billing 
ton  sprang  in,  pulled  up  the  seal -skin  robe,  and 
drove  off  by  her  side  as  the  rain  began  to  pour. 

That  afternoon  he  addressed  his  valentine. 

His  friends  all  declare  it  was  a  true  love 
match. 


SHE  HAD  ON  HER  GERANIUM 
LEAVES 

'HEN  Buck  left  college  it 
was  with  the  reputation 
of  being  the  wildest,  clev 
erest,  and   most   worth 
less    man  in   our  class, 
that  is,  reckless. 
"  There  is  no  security  in  the  world  like  the 
reputation  of  being  worthless,"  he  used  to  say. 
"  With  it  a  man  can  talk  love  to  any  girl  he 
pleases,  and  the  girl  likes  him,  too." 

The  next  thing  I  heard  of  him  he  was  prac 
tising  law  at  the  county -seat  of  his  native 
county,  and  it  was  said  that  he  had  one  side 
or  the  other  of  every  case,  and  was  madly  in 
love  with  the  pretty  daughter  of  the  rector  of 
the  parish.  The  next  thing  I  heard  was  a 
rumor  that  he  had  "held  up  some  man"  on 
the  street  one  night  and  had  been  forced  to 
run  away  from,  the  State.  I  did  not  believe 


Ill 


the  robbery  story;  but  there  was  a  mystery 
about  it. 

It  Avas  several  years  after  this  that  I  hap 
pened  to  be  in  a  new  town  in  the  Southwest. 
I  registered  at  the  Plaza,  the  new  plank  hotel, 
and  had  eaten  my  supper  and  was  about  to 
retire,  when  there  was  a  heavy  tread  outside 
of  my  room.  The  door  opened  without  the 
ceremony  of  a  knock,  and  a  tall,  fine -looking 
man,  with  a  black  slouched  hat,  full  camp  rig, 
and  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  walked  in.  It  was 
Buck.  I  knew  him  in  a  second  by  his  smile. 
He  had  not  changed  a  whit.  He  was  the 
chief  engineer  of  the  new  railroad.  I  asked 
him  how  he  came  to  leave  his  old  home. 

His  eyes  twinkled.  "  Got  religion,  and  could 
not  stand  the  law." 

"  I  heard  you  could  not  stand  the  law,"  I 
said ;  "  but  I  did  not  hear  it  was  religion.  I 
heard  it  was  holding  a  man  up — robbery." 

"  It  was,"  he  said — "of  his  girl.  You  know 
I  used  to  be  a  deuce  of  a  fool  about  women ; 
am  one  now,  for  that  matter,  about  one,  at 
least ;  would  not  give  a  cent  for  a  man  who 
was  not.  "Well,  I  used  to  be  awfully  in  love 
with  a  little  girl  —  the  preacher's  daughter. 


112 


Pretty  as  a  puppy !  She  liked  me,  too ;  but 
I  used  to  kind  of  knock  liquor  those  days, 
and  her  old  folks  were  down  on  me.  That 
was  all  right ;  and  at  last  she  began  to  try 
to  save  me.  I  had  her  then.  Nothing  to 
help  a  man  with  a  woman  like  having  her 
try  to  save  him.  Well,  I  was  getting  along 
all  right ;  but  she  had  a  fellow  coming  to 
see  her,  an  old  fellow  from  town  with  a  big 
pile.  I  had  seen  him  once  or  twice  before, 
and  I  took  it  into  my  head  that  she  was  liking 
him.  I  got  to  cutting  up  about  it,  and  the 
first  thing  I  knew  she  had  sent  me  flying.  I 
got  on  a  spree,  and  stayed  there  till  I  heard 
one  evening  that  he  had  come  to  see  her.  I 
sobered  up,  and  went  around  to  the  hotel  to 
find  out  about  him.  I  found  that  he  had 
taken  the  private  parlor,  and  had  sent  a  note 
around  by  Link  to  my  girl.  Link  was  my 
nigger.  I  owned  him  body  and  soul ;  he 
would  have  committed  murder  for  me.  So  I 
got  hold  of  him  and  cross -questioned  him. 
The  snow  was  on  the  ground,  and  I  found 
Frasher  had  written  to  ask  Miss  Lizzie  to 
go  sleigh-riding  with  him. 

"  '  Did  she  look  pleased  ?'  I  asked  Link. 


113 

" '  Yas,  suh,  clat  she  did ;  an'  I  hear'  her  call 
ing  Mincie  to  meek  up  good  fire  in  de  parlor 
toreckly.' 

"  I  swore.  I  think  I  did.  I  believe  I  used 
to  swear  in  those  days." 

"  I  believe  you  did.     Go  on,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  Link  noticed  it  and  consoled  me. 

" i  He  gwine  teck  her  sleigh-ridin'  by  moon 
light.  He  up-stairs  gitting  ready  now.' 

"  I  gave  Link  a  quarter  and  went  to  supper. 
Link  went  up  to  answer  the  old  fellow's  call, 
and  to  tell  him  a  lot  of  lies  about  me.  When 
he  came  down  to  supper  Ben  Brice  told  him  a 
lot  more.  For  one  thing,  he  told  him  that  I 
had  gone  crazy  from  love  of  Miss  Lizzie,  and 
had  tried  to  commit  two  wanton  murders  out 
of  pure  jealousy,  and  had  been  acquitted  on 
the  ground  of  insanity.  I  went  to  the  doctor's 
whilst  he  was  at  supper  and  asked  for  Miss 
Lizzie.  She  sent  down  word  that  she  had  a 
headache  and  requested  to  be  excused.  I  sent 
her  word  back  that  I  wanted  to  take  her 
sleigh-riding.  She  replied  that  she  could  not 
go.  Both  lamps  were  lighted  in  the  parlor, 
and  the  fire  was  blazing.  I  went  back  up  to 
the  hotel  and  borrowed  Ben  Brice's  old  horse- 


114 


pistol,  got  a  bottle  of  whiskey,  and  went  down 
to  the  doctor's  again  to  mount  guard  at  the 
gate.  I  had  just  reached  the  gate  when  the 
sleigh  drove  up  with  the  old  fellow  in  it  under 
a  big  buffalo  robe,  and  Link  by  his  side  to 
hold  the  horses.  He  stepped  out  and  started 
to  go  into  the  gate. 

" '  Halt !'  says  I. 

"  He  did  so,  and  asked  what  I  wanted.  I 
told  him  that  he  could  not  go  in  there,  that 
Miss  Lizzie  was  sick. 

" <  Why,  I  have  an  engagement  to  go  sleigh- 
riding  with  her,'  he  said. 

"  I  told  him  that  I  knew  that ;  but  I  had 
later  intelligence,  and  she  was  too  unwell  to 
go  out  that  evening.  I  had  it  from  her  own 
lips,  and  as  her  friend  I  could  not  allow  her  to 
be  disturbed.  This  set  him  back  a  good  deal ; 
but  he  began  to  bluster.  He  i  would  go  in 
there,'  and  he  i  wished  to  know  who  I  was,'  etc. 
I  just  pulled  out  my  old  pistol  and  shoved 
it  up  under  his  nose.  You  ought  to  have 
seen  him !  A  keg  of  powder  could  not  have 
set  it  off,  but  it  looked  like  a  cannon.  Then  I 
began  to  lecture  him  on  the  sin  of  persecuting 
a  poor  girl  like  he  was  doing — an  old  thing 


HE    WAS    AS    MELLOW    AS    AN    APPLE" 


115 

with  a  dyed  mustache  like  him.  You  never 
heard  such  a  lecture  in  your  life.  I  preached 
like  the  doctor.  Presently  he  said  he  would 
go  back  to  the  hotel,  he  was  catching  cold.  I 
told  him  no,  I  could  not  let  him  go  back  just 
yet,  but  that  I  had  some  whiskey.  He  said 
he  never  touched  whiskey.  I  told  him.  that 
neither  did  I,  but  I  had  brought  this  along 
to  keep  him  from  catching  cold,  and  he  must 
drink  it.  He  turned  to  Link  and  asked  him 
in  an  undertone  if  he  thought  I  really  would 
shoot  him. 

" '  Yas,  suh,'  said  Link.  <  Marse  Buck  'ain't 
got  a  bit  better  sense  'n  to  shoot  you.  He 
'ain't  got  no  sense  about  shooting  folks,  no 
way.' 

"  Well,  sir,  you  never  saw  such  a  drink  as 
he  took.  I  don't  believe  he  had  had  a  drop  in 
a  year.  I  thought  he  was  going  to  the  bot 
tom  of  the  bottle.  The  next  thing  I  did,  I 
chucked  him  into  the  sleigh,  and  jumped  in 
after  him.  Link  jumped  out  as  I  grabbed  the 
reins,  and  the  horses  went  off  with  a  bolt. 
They  were  the  finest  sleigh  team  you  ever 
saw,  and  I  let  'em  go.  You  never  heard  a 
man  pray  so  in  all  your  life.  When  we  got 


116 

back  it  was  about  half -past  eleven,  and  lie 
was  as  mellow  as  an  apple.  I  put  him  to  bed, 
and  went  down  to  the  doctor's.  The  lights 
were  still  burning  in  the  parlor,  and  I  walked 
in.  Miss  Lizzie  was  sitting  before  the  fire  with 
her  little  red  shoes  on  the  fender  and  her  furs 
on  a  chair,  pretending  to  read.  I  told  her  she 
had  just  as  well  take  off  those  geranium  leaves 
and  put  out  those  lights;  that  her  old  beau 
with  his  dyed  mustache  was  in  bed  drunk,  and 
his  team  had  had  all  the  moonlight  driving 
they  could  stand  that  night.  "Whoop !  but  she 
was  mad.  She  never  spoke  to  me  till  I  went 
back  there ;  but  she  never  spoke  to  him  again 
at  all.  He  went  home  next  day,  and  died  soon 
afterwards.  Ben  Brice  said  it  was  pneumonia ; 
but  I  don't  think  it  was.  Lizzie  and  I  both 
agree  it  was  old  age." 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  a  black 
negro  with  a  jolly  face  poked  his  head  in,  and 
said,  with  his  teeth  shining,  "Marse  Buck, 
Miss  Lizzie  say  you  can  bring  de  gent'man  up 
now ;  she  done  put  on  her  geramium  leabes." 


A  STORY   OF   CHARLES  HARRIS 

THERE  are  few  of  us  who  ever  knew  Char 
lie  Harris  who  will  not  remember  him  best 
as  "Chad/'  the  faithful,  fat,  and  delightful 
body-servant,  friend,  and  guardian  of  Colonel 
Carter  of  Cartersville.  His  soft  dialect,  his 
mushy  accent,  his  natural  gestures,  his  limp, 
long  since  forgotten,  but  put  on  again  when  his 
master  recalled  the  heroic  incident  in  which 
he  received  the  bullet  in  his  leg,  all  combined 
to  make  him  the  only  real  "nigger"  on  the 
stage.  But  to  know  Charlie  Harris  truly  one 
had  to  know  him  off  the  stage. 

One  night  at  the  rooms  of  some  friends  high 
up  on  Fifth  Avenue  we  got  him  to  talking 
about  old  times  and  his  life  in  Louisiana. 
"  Boys,  if  you  think  I  am  a  good  '  nigger,' 
you  ought  to  see  me  as  a  villain.  You  do  not 
know  what  a  villanous  villain  I  am.  It  was  the 
first  character  I  ever  played,"  he  said.  Then  he 
told  us.  He  had  not  been  playing  long  when 


118 


his  company  went  to  New  Orleans.  His  old 
home  was  near  there,  and  one  day  his  old  mam 
my  and  her  husband,  "  Uncle  Tony,"  called  on 
him.  They  had  come  down  from  the  country 
to  see  him.  He  invited  them  to  come  and  see 
him  play  that  night,  and  sent  them  front  seats 
in  the  colored  people's  gallery.  "  They  thought 
I  owned  the  theatre,"  he  said,  "  and  expected 
to  see  me  looking  like  a  king  at  the  Mardi- 
gras.  Well,  in  the  piece  that  night  I  was  the 
villain.  I  was  not  made  up  much,  and  conse 
quently  I  could  be  easily  recognized.  I  cut  my 
eye  up  towards  the  gallery  as  I  entered,  and 
saw  the  old  folks  in  their  places.  Uncle  Tony 
knew  me  at  once,  for  he  undertook  to  point 
me  out  to  mammy.  I  could  hear  him  describ 
ing  me.  '  Dat's  him.  Nor,  not  clat  one ;  dat 
one — dat  fat  one  over  dyah.'  Presently  mam 
my  saw  me  and  made  a  gesture  to  me.  Well, 
I  was  the  meanest  rascal  in  that  play  you  ever 
saw — as  cold  as  a  lizard  and  as  calculating  as 
a  rat.  I  cheated  every  one,  and  everybody 
hated  me.  For  a  time  I  succeeded,  but  after 
a  period  of  prosperity  I  was  at  last  found  out, 
and  everybody  jumped  on  me.  I  was  caught 
stealing,  and  was  abused  like  a  pickpocket 


119 


without  a  word  to  say  for  myself.  In  the 
middle  of  it  I  heard  an  exclamation  from  the 
gallery,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  Uncle  Tony 
and  mammy.  They  were  both  leaning  far 
over  the  rail  in  great  excitement.  Just  then  I 
was  seized  and  banged  around  the  room  by 
the  hero.  I  was  too  busy  to  notice  more  than 
that  both  mammy  and  Uncle  Tony  were  on 
their  feet  gesticulating;  but  just  as  I  was 
being  hustled  to  the  door  to  be  kicked  out,  I 
heard  a  scream,  '  Yo'-all  let  my  chile  alone!' 
and  a  deeper  voice  shouting,  *  Knock  him 
down,  Marse  Charlie,  knock  him  down ! 
Wait ;  I'm  cominV  Then  the  door  closed 
on  me,  and  a  storm  of  applause  went  through 
the  house. 

"  When  the  play  was  over,  some  one  told 
me  that  two  old  negroes  were  waiting  outside 
to  see  me.  I  had  them  shown  in.  I  saw  that 
something  was  the  matter,  and  tried  to  be 
jocular,  but  it  was  too  serious  with  them. 
Mammy  was  whimpering  and,  with  arras 
folded  tightly,  was  rocking  from  side  to  side, 
and  Uncle  Tony  was  as  solemn  as  a  tomb 
stone.  '  Marse  Charlie,  you  didn't  steal  clem 
things  sho  'nough,  did  you?'  asked  Uncle 


120 

Tony,  whilst  mammy  rocked  and  moaned. 
'  No,'  I  exclaimed,  '  of  course  not.'  '  I  tole 
you  so ;  I  tole  you  so,'  said  mammy.  <  I  tole 
clem  other  niggers  so  up  dem  stairs  dyah. 
'Twas  dat  other  man  heself — I  tole  em  so.'  I 
tried  to  explain,  for  I  sa\v  my  danger.  I  had 
played  too  naturally.  It  never  had  occurred 
to  me  that  they  would  think  me  a  thief.  I 
was  not  entirely  successful,  however.  '  Marse 
Charlie,  your  pa  never  would  'a'  stood  no  sich 
thing  as  dat,'  said  Uncle  Tony.  '  He  never  'd 
V  let  no  man  lay  a  han'  'pon  him  in  dis  wull !' 
'Why,  that  was  in  the  play,'  I  explained. 
'  Don't  you  see  ?'  '  Mighty  curiousome  sort 
of  play,'  said  Uncle  Tony,  solemnly.  'Have  a 
man  knock  you  down  and  stomp  all  over  you 
like  dat,  and  then  dar'sn'  even  raise  your  han' 
'bout  it.  I  bound  your  pa  would  'a'  knocked 
his  head  offn  any  man  that  laid  his  han'  'pon 
him.'  'Well,  he  'bleeged  to  git  a  livin',' 
said  mammy,  apologetically.  'Mighty  hard 
way  to  git  a  livin','  said  Uncle  Tony,  suspi 
ciously.  '  I  glad  old  marster  'ain'  know  nuttin' 
'bout  it,  dat's  all.'  They  went  out.  They 
are  both  dead  now,'  said  Charlie,  softly. 
And  now  Charlie  is  dead  too. 


HE  WOULD  HAVE  GOTTEN  A  LAWYER 

I  WAS  attending  the  term  of  Ilenrico  court 
one  spring  when  I  had  been  at  the  bar  only 
a  year  or  two,  and  was  in  the  court-room  when 
the  criminal  docket  was  called.  The  clerk 
read  out  the  case  of  "The  Commonwealth  vs. 
Mannie  Johnson  :  an  indictment  for  a  felony," 
and  my  attention  was  arrested  by  hearing  the 
sheriff  say  the  prisoner  had  no  counsel.  If 
there  is  one  thing  which  excites  the  sympathy 
of  a  young  lawyer,  it  is  a  prisoner  who  has  no 
counsel.  There  was  a  little  colloquy  between 
the  judge,  the  commonwealth's  attorney,  and 
the  sheriff,  and  the  judge  finally  said,  "  Well, 
bring  him  in,  anyhow ;  I  will  see  about  it." 

The  long-legged,  gangling  sheriff  retired, 
and  in  a  little  while  re-entered  with  his  most 
professional  solemnity  about  him,  preceded  by 
a  stumpy,  little,  rusty,  bow-legged  negro,  about 
thirty -five  years  of  age  and  about  five  feet  in 
height,  who  looked,  perhaps,  as  unlikely  to 


122 

be  able  to  steal  a  steer  as  anybody  in  the 
world. 

The  sheriff  roughly  pointed  out  a  chair  to 
him,  and  he  sat  down  in  it  without  even  tak 
ing  a  look  at  the  jury  lounging  in  their  box. 

"  Is  that  the  man  3"  asked  the  judge.  "  Did 
that  man  steal  a  steer  ?" 

The  sheriff  smiled  the  smile  of  one  familiar 
with  the  classes  who  steal  steers ;  the  common 
wealth's  attorney  smiled  with  the  smile  of  one 
who  makes  ten  dollars  out  of  each  indictment 
for  a  felony  which  he  is  able  to  draw  and  get 
a  grand  jury  to  find ;  even  the  jury  smiled ; 
I  know  I  smiled.  The  prisoner,  with  his  old 
ragged  hat  in  his  hand,  was  the  only  one 
who  did  not  smile.  He  glanced  up  for  a  sec 
ond  at  the  judge  on  the  bench,  then  dropped 
his  eyes  to  a  level,  and  sat  as  motionless  as  be 
fore. 

"Have  you  any  counsel?"  asked  the  judge. 
Th£  prisoner  looked  at  him,  but  said  nothing ; 
and  the  judge,  appreciating  the  fact  that  he 
perhaps  did  not  understand  the  question,  asked 
him,  "  Have  you  any  lawyer  f ' 

"  Nor,  suh,"  he  said,  twisting  a  little  in  his 
seat,  and  settling  down  as  before. 


123 


The  judge  turned  to  me  and  asked  me  to  de 
fend  him,  adding,  civilly,  "  if  my  other  clients 
could  wait  a  little  while."  I  informed  him 
that  I  thought  my  other  clients  could  wait ; 
that  I  always  made  my  clients  wait  my  own 
pleasure  (they  had  then  been  waiting  some 
months) ;  and  going  around,  took  a  seat  ap 
proximately  near  to  my  new  client's  side. 

"  Have  you  any  witnesses  ?"  I  asked. 

He  did  not  look  at  me,  or,  if  he  did,  it  was 
only  a  glance ;  he  simply  said,  "  Nor,  suh." 

"  Can  you  get  any  if  I  get  a  continuance — 
if  I  get  the  case  put  off  till  next  month  ?" 

"  I  don'  know  ; — nor,  suh,"  he  said,  scarcely 
taking  the  trouble  to  speak. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  rising,  "  I  think  we  are  ready ; 
we  might  as  well  go  into  trial." 

The  jury  was  waked  up  and  sworn.  The 
clerk  made  the  prisoner  stand  up,  and  read  an 
indictment  as  long  as  himself,  and  the  com 
monwealth's  attorney  called  his  witnesses. 
There  were  five  of  them. 

The  first  was  a  farmer,  who  testified  that 
he  owned  the  steer  in  question,  and  that  one 
evening  he  saw  him  in  his  pasture  when  he 
attended  to  his  stock,  and  the  following  morn- 


124 


ing  when  he  went  out  he  missed  him.  He 
thought  at  first  that  he  might  have  fallen  into 
a  ditch,  but  not  finding  him,  he  went  around 
the  fence,  and  finally  found  his  tracks  going 
out  of  the  gate  and  down  the  road  towards 
Eichmond,  followed  by  the  tracks  of  a  man 
who  was  evidently  driving  him.  He  got  his 
horse  and  followed  in  hot  haste,  but  the  steer 
had  evidently  been  stolen  early  in  the  night,  and 
he  did  not  overtake  him  until  he  got  to  town ; 
there,  after  some  hunting,  he  found  him  in  the 
possession  of  a  butcher,  who  claimed  to,  have 
bought  him  from  the  negro  now  at  the  bar. 

The  butcher  himself  was  sworn,  and  testified 
that  early  one  morning  the  prisoner  drove  the 
steer  up  to  his  gate,  claiming  it  to  be  his,  and 
stating  that  he  wanted  some  money  very  bad 
ly,  in  consideration  of  which  he,  the  butcher, 
gave  him  fifteen  dollars  for  the  steer. 

The  other  witnesses  were  two  men  who  hap 
pened  to  be  present,  and  who  identified  the 
prisoner  as  the  person  who  sold  the  butcher 
the  steer,  and  the  policeman  wiio  made  the  ar 
rest,  and  who  testified  to  something  which  the 
commonwealth's  attorney  called  "a  confes- 


125 

I  asked  for  several  instructions,  which  the 
judge,  very  unjustly,  as  I  thought  at  that  time, 
refused  positively  to  give.  I  am  bound  to  say 
now  that  my  views  upon  this  matter  have  be 
come  modified  by  time.  I  cross-examined  the 
witnesses  with  much  severity.  Then  the  com 
monwealth's  attorney  made  a  few  remarks, 
stating  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  make  a 
speech,  as  the  evidence  was  all  one  way.  And 
then  I  entered  upon  my  argument. 

I  made  what  I  deemed  a  very  able  and  elo 
quent  defence.  I  charged  all  five  witnesses 
with  perjury,  and  proved  it  to  my  complete 
satisfaction.  The  jury,  I  am  bound  to  say, 
were  flattering  in  their  attention.  Only  a  few 
of  them  dozed.  When  I  closed,  the  common 
wealth's  attorney  rose,  and  commented  upon 
my  argument  in  a  way  which  came  very  near 
bringing  on  a  personal  collision  in  court  be 
tween  him  and  myself. 

Then  the  jury  retired,  and  returned  so 
promptly  that  I  felt  a  glow  of  enthusiasm 
that  they  should  have  hesitated  so  short  a 
time,  even  after  my  able  defence.  The  clerk 
took  the  indictment  and  read  the  verdict : 

"  We,  the  jury,  find  the  prisoner  guilty,  and 


126 

sentence  him  to  the  penitentiary  for  ten 
years." 

I  was  scarcely  able  to  believe  ray  own  senses. 
I  arose  immediately,  and,  with  some  heat, 
moved  to  set  the  verdict  aside  on  the  ground 
that  it  was  contrary  to  the  evidence.  This  the 
judge  refused  to  do,  and  I  excepted.  My  client 
never  blinked ;  he  simply  sat  immobile  as  ever ; 
but  I  was  outraged.  I  turned  to  him  and  said, 

"  Well,  I  did  the  best  I  could  for  you." 

He  grunted,  but  did  not  look  at  me,  and  I 
felt  that  he  was  overcome  with  emotion  at 
what  I  had  done  for  him,  and  said : 

"  The  only  thing  for  us  to  do  now  is  to  get 
an  appeal.  I  will  take  it  up  to  the  higher 
court,  and  fight  it  through  for  you.  But  it 
will  take  some  money,  because  there  are  costs, 
and  of  course  you  ought  to  pay  me  a  fee  if  you 
can.  Have  you  got  any  money  at  all  ?" 

Without  looking  at  me,  he  said,  "  Nor,  sur ; 
ef  I  had,  I'd  'a'  got  me  a  lawyer !" 

I  have  become  satisfied  that  he  ought  to 
have  gone  to  the  penitentiary,  but  the  sheriff 
informed  me  afterwards  that  he  got  out  of  jail 
that  night. 


HOW   ANDREW   CARRIED   THE 
PRECINCT 

A   POLITICAL    STORY    WITHOUT   POLITICS 

ANDREW  and  Pettigrew  were  about  equal 
ly  well  known  in  the  county.  They  had  both 
belonged  to  the  same  estate  as  boys,  but  their 
lives  had  been  as  different  as  their  persons. 
Pettigrew  was  a  slender,  small,  keen-looking, 
bright  mulatto,  who  had  been  house  -  servant 
and  had  picked  up  a  good  deal  of  information, 
including  both  reading  and  writing,  of  which 
he  was  as  vain  as  he  was  of  his  slim  figure  and 
bushy  hair.  Andrew  was  a  big,  black,  raw- 
boned  creature,  as  dull  as  he  was  ugly,  and  as 
ungainly  as  he  was  tall.  He  had  been  cow 
boy  till  he  grew  too  big,  and  then  he  became 
a  steer-driver.  It  was  to  this  position,  coupled 
with  his  easy  good -nature,  that  was  due  the 
intimacy  between  him  and  his  young  master, 
out  of  which  possibly  grew  the  following  in 
cident. 


128 

His  "marse  Johnnie"  had  always  declared 
that  Andrew  had  "more  sense  than  people 
gave  him  credit  for,"  which  did  not  necessarily 
imply  great  wisdom.  Between  Andrew  and 
Pettigrew  there  had  always  existed  a  strong 
enmity,  and  the  small  mulatto  frequently  ex 
ercised  his  ingenuity  to  tease  and  worry  "  that 
ugly,  black,  big-moufed  nigger."  Only  once 
did  he  carry  it  too  far.  Andrew  got  him  to 
write  a  valentine  for  him  to  his  sweetheart,  a 
young  house-girl  in  the  family,  and  when  An 
drew  delivered  it,  it  turned  out  to  be  a  ridicu 
lous  piece  of  nonsense,  which  brought  down 
upon  her  black  lover  her  lasting  anger.  Pet 
tigrew  thought  it  a  good  joke,  and  boasted  of  it, 
but  Andrew  suddenly  struck  out.  He  would  per 
haps  in  his  fury  have  broken  Pettigrew's  neck, 
had  not  his  young  master  come  up  at  the  mo 
ment  and  saved  him.  Pettigrew  never  forgot  it. 

After  the  war  Pettigrew  turned  out  to  be  a 
great  politician,  and,  with  his  accomplishments, 
became  quite  a  leader  in  his  county.  Andrew 
was  one  of  the  very  few  negroes  who  stood 
by  their  masters.  He  declared  that  he  was 
"  a  gent'man,"  and  was  going  "  to  vote  wid  de 
gent'mens,"  and  he  did.  It  subjected  him  to 


129 


no  little  obloquy  and  trouble,  and  his  temper 
and  health  both  suffered. 

The  county  was  a  very  close  one,  and  for 
several  reasons  was  an  important  one  in  the 
district,  and  Pettigrew,  as  "boss"  in  it,  be 
came  a  man  of  prominence.  His  precinct  was 
talked  of  even  in  other  counties.  Only  Andrew, 
of  all  his  color  who  voted  there,  withstood  him. 
The  latter  possessed  a  certain  influence  due  to 
a  singular  circumstance.  He  claimed  to  see 
spirits,  and  to  have  the  gift  of  prophecy.  His 
habit  of  roaming  about  at  night,  his  fear 
lessness  of  graveyards,  and  a  certain  unusual 
knowledge  of  the  weather,  coupled  with  his 
singular  appearance  and  his  moody  look,  gave 
him  credence,  and  he  was  not  a  little  feared 
in  the  county.  This  saved  him  from  trouble 
which  he  would  otherwise  have  had,  and  he 
remained  only  ostracized  by  those  who,  had 
they  not  been  afraid  of  him,  would  have  taken 
more  active  steps. 

Finally  Pettigrew,  as  a  reward  for  his  ser 
vices,  was  given  a  position  as  warden  in  a  ne 
gro  insane  asylum.  He  had  not  been  there 
long  when  it  began  to  be  rumored  in  the  old 
county  that  Andre \v  was  going  crazy.  Petti- 


130 

grew  himself,  who  happened  to  be  at  home, 
was  present  at  the  examination,  and  testified 
to  a  number  of  facts  which  went  far  to  estab 
lish  the  charge  of  insanity.  Wandering  about 
at  night,  familiarity  with  spirits,  a  claim  to  the 
gift  of  prophecy,  all  were  proved.  Andrew, 
when  asked  if  he  wished  to  say  anything,  said 
he  was  a  trapper  —  that  a  graveyard  was  a 
good  place  for  'possums  and  old  hares;  that 
he  sometimes  saw  spirits,  it  was  true,  but  he 
never  troubled  them  and  they  never  bothered 
him  ;  and  that  Pettigrew  was-  a  liar.  The  ne 
gro  magistrates,  with  "  Brother  Johnson  "  at 
their  head,  decided  that  Andrew  was  crazy, 
and  sent  him  on. 

There-  was  an  election  coming  on,  and  Petti- 
grew  himself  could  not  take  Andrew  to  the 
asylum;  but  he  told  him  he  would  be  there 
soon,  and  he  would  attend  to  him  ;  and  he  kept 
his  word.  Andrew  was-  reported  so  often  for 
refractoriness  under  Pettigrew's  wardenship, 
and  appeared  to  be  getting  constantly  so  much 
worse,  that  finally  he  was  removed  to  another 
ward,  and,  to  the  surprise  of  every  one,  was 
soon  pronounced  convalescent.  In  due  time, 
indeed,  he  was  declared  well  enough  to  go 


131 


home  for  a  while,  and  was  released  on  trial. 
The  report  soon  came  back  that  he  was  entire 
ly  well. 

Some  months  after  this,  however,  the  next 
election  came  on.  It  was  deemed  very  close, 
and  every  precinct  in  the  State  counted.  An 
drew's  "young  Marse  Johnnie"  was  a  candi 
date  in  his  county,  and  it  was  known  that 
Andrew  was  working  for  him  and  was  hav 
ing  much  effect,  notwithstanding  the  threats 
against  him.  Pettigrew  was  put  up  to  run 
against  him. 

Pettigrew,  some  little  time  before  the  elec 
tion,  went  home.  In  a  little  while  came  the 
announcement  that  it  might  be  better  to  send 
and  bring  Andrew  back  to  the  asylum.  Pet 
tigrew  said  he  would  take  him.  Two  nights 
before  the  election  a  large  meeting  was  held 
in  a  colored  church  not  far  from  the  voting- 
place,  and  it  was  rumored  that  Andrew  was 
not  crazy  at  all,  and  that  Pettigrew  had  per 
suaded  him  "  to  vote  right."  Pettigrew  ap 
peared,  and  made  a  telling  speech,  announcing 
Andrew's  conversion,  and  that  he  would  ap 
pear  the  following  evening  and  make  a  full 
recantation  of  his  errors  "  befo'  de  meetin'." 


132 


The  following  evening,  just  at  dusk,  the  hour 
appointed,  Pettigrew  repaired  to  the  rendez 
vous,  at  the  junction  of  two  paths,  and  awaited 
his  convert.  He  had  in  his  hand  a  book  and 
writing  materials  to  make  out  a  list  of  the 
voters.  He  was  just  becoming  impatient  when 
he  heard  his  man  coming  down  the  path 
through  the  pines.  "  I  jest  gwine  to  give  you 
up/'  he  said,  threateningly, 

"  Well,  heah  me,"  said  Andrew. 

"  Yaas,  heah  you !"  said  Pettigrew,  severely. 
"Ef  you  hadn't  been  heah,  you  know  what  I'd 
done  wid  you?" 

"  Yaas,  I  know,"  said  Andrew. 

"  You  done  'member  the  times  I  done  laid 
hick'ry  upon  yo'  back,  down  yonder,  'ain't  you  ?" 

"  Yaas,  I  'member,"  said  Andrew,  meekly. 

"  Well,  now,  come  'long,  an'  don'  you  open 
yo'  mouf  'cep'  as  I  tells  you  ;  if  you  does,  I'll — " 
He  made  an  expressive  gesture,  as  if  he  held 
a  whip  in  his  hand,  and  turned  down  the  path 
through  the  pines,  Andrew  walking  meekly 
behind  him.  They  were  in  a  little  bottom, 
Pettigrew  still  walking  before,  when  a  noosed 
rope  was  suddenly  thrown  over  his  head  from 
behind  and  jerked  tight,  and  he  was  slung 


133 

down  on  his  back,  with  Andrew's  little  black 
eves  close  to  his  face. 

"  Ef  you  say  a  word,  I'll  kill  you  right  heah," 
he  said,  and  his  big  hands  on  Pettigrew's  throat 
proved  his  intention.  In  a  minute  more  the 
mulatto's  arms  were  tightly  pinioned,  and  then 
the  lunatic  lifted  him  to  his  feet  and  said, 
"  Walk !" 

The  mulatto  came  near  fainting  with  fear, 
but  he  walked  till  he  got  to  a  small  stream, 
his  first  fright  somewhat  relieved,  as  they 
were  going  out  towards  the  road. 

"  "Wade !"  said  Andrew ;  and  he  waded  in. 
Half- way  across,  Andrew  turned  him  at  right 
angles  and  made  him  wade  down-stream,  bow 
ing  low  under  the  bushes  which  lined  its  banks. 
Deeper  and  deeper  into  the  pines  they  pene 
trated,  Pettigrew  growing  more  and  more 
alarmed  ;  but  the  faintest  hesitation  to  obey 
his  captor's  command  brought  the  big  hands 
to  his  throat  with  a  dangerous  clutch.  Half  a 
mile  down  the  stream  Andrew  ordered  him  to 
turn  up  a  smaller  branch,  and  a  hundred  or  two 
yards  up  he  lifted  him  to  his  shoulder  as  easily 
as  he  would  have  done  a  child,  and  walking  out, 
pushed  upward  into  the  pines.  Presently  they 


134 

came  to  a  heavier  thicket,  and  stooping  low 
and  making  his  way  through  the  thorn  bushes, 
Andrew  set  him  down  in  a  little  cleared  spot. 
Pettigrew's  eyes  nearly  popped  from  their 
sockets;  for  by  the  dim  light  of  the  stars  he 
saw  the  dull  white  of  a  number  of  old  tomb 
stones,  and  recognized  the  fact  that  he  was  in 
an  old  graveyard  which  was  known  through 
out  the  country  as  being  the  worst  spot  for 
"  harnts  "  in  that  section. 

Andrew  set  him  against  a  small  tree,  around 
which  he  wrapped  the  end  of  the  rope  that 
bound  him,  and  then  took  his  seat  on  a  fallen 
log  just  before  Pettigrew,  and  looked  at  him 
silently.  Presently  he  said,  quietly,  "  You  kin 
talk  now."  But  he  was  mistaken ;  the  mulat 
to's  mouth  was  dry  and  his  tongue  parched. 

"  Why 'n't  you  talk  ?"  asked  Andrew,  calmly. 

Pettigrew's  teeth  chattered. 

"You  cold?"  said  Andrew.  "I'll  warm 
you."  He  arose  and  began  to  gather  sticks. 
Pettigrew  thought  he  might  slip  away,  and 
glanced  around.  His  captor  appeared  to  di 
vine  his  intention,  for  he  suddenly  came  back 
to  him,  and,  rearranging  the  rope  differently, 
made  fast  the  end  of  it  to  the  tree  behind  him. 


'"YOU  COLD?     I'LL  WARM  YOU 


135 


"  Don't  you  try  it,"  he  said,  threaten 
ingly. 

The  divination  of  his  thought  struck  the 
mulatto  with  more  terror  than  all  that  had 
gone  before.  "When  the  fire  was  kindled  An 
drew  drew  up  his  log  and  sat  down  again  op 
posite  his  captive.  Presently  he  said : 

"  Le'  me  heah  what  you  warn  me  to  tell  de 
meetin'." 

"  I  don'  warn  you  to  tell  'em  nuttin."  said 
Pettigrew. 

"  Yaas,  you  does,"  said  Andrew ;  "  'cause 
you  said  so.  Didn't  you  say  so  2" 

"  Yaas,  but  I  don'  warn  it  now."  A  gleam 
struck  him.  "Andrew,"  he  said,  "ef  you'll 
le'  me  off  I  won't  trouble  you  no  more;  I 
won't  take  you  back  to  the  'sylum.  I'll  let 
you  'lone ;  I  swah  I  will." 

Andrew  looked  at  him  in  contempt. 
"  Humph !"  he  grunted.  "  Le'  me  heah  you 
speak." 

Pettigrew  remained  silent. 

"  Say  yo'  pra'rs,  den,"  muttered  Andrew. 
He  leaned  over,  picked  up  a  burning  chunk 
from  the  fire,  and  walked  around  towards 
his  prisoner. 


136 

Pettigrew's  eyes  popped.  "  I'll  speak,"  be 
said. 

"  All  right ;  begin."  Andrew  sat  down  again 
and  stuck  the  chunk  back  into  the  embers. 

Pettigrew  began,  stammeringly  enough,  and 
said  his  prepared  speech,  "  Muh  fellow-citizens  " 
and  all.  He  made  no  mention  of  Andrew. 

"  Tell  'em  'bout  me,"  said  Andrew, 

"  What  mus'  I  tell  'em  ?" 

"  Tell  'em  what  a  nice  white  gent'man  I  is." 

His  captive  uttered  a  few  sentences  suffi 
ciently  laudatory, 

"Dat's  enuff,"  said  Andrew,  presently. 
"Now  tell  'em  how  you  gwine  treat  me 
down  yonder  at  de  'sylum." 

Pettigrew  protested,  but  the  chunk  of  fire 
came  out  again. 

"  How  many  licks  you  hit  me  down  dar  ?" 
asked  Andrew. 

"  I — I — I  don'  know ;  I  mighty  sorry  I  hit 
you  any." 

"  I  is  too,"  said  Andrew.  "  I  don'  know  how 
many  dey  wuz,  but  I  know  'twuz  mo'n  a  hun- 
dercl ;  I  know  dat ;  an'  I  gwine  hit  you  a  clean 
hunderd  to  even  'em  up." 

He  arose,  and  turning,  cut  a  bunch  of  stout 


137 


switches.  Suddenly  a  thought  seemed  to  strike 
him.  "  You  see  dem  switches  ?"  he  said,  point 
ing  at  them  where  they  lay  on  the  ground. 
"  "Well,  I  warn  you  to  write  me  a  letter,  an'  ef 
you'll  write  it  right,  mebby  I'll  let  you  off ;  mcb- 
l)y  I  will.  You  know  you  writes  mighty  good, 
'cause  you's  got  a  heap  o'  eddication.  You 
wuz  brought  up  in  de  house,  an'  I  warn't  nut- 
tin  but  a  steer-driver.  You's  a  yaller  man,  an' 
I  ain't  nuttin  but  a  ugly,  big-mouf ,  black  nigger. 
I  done  see  you  write,  you  know,  'cause  you 
writ  me  a  valentine  once,  you  'member.  You 
cyahs  pen  an'  ink  'roun'  wid  you,  jes  like  muh 
ole  marster  used  to  do  when  he  went  to  court. 
You  got  'em  in  yo'  pocket  now,  an'  now  I 
warn  you  to  write." 

Pettigrew  by  this  time  was  ready  to  promise 
anything.  "I  will,"  he  said.  "What  you 
warn  me  to  write  ?  Who  mus'  I  write  to  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  Andrew,  pensively,  "  I  warn 
you  to  write  to  de  meethr." 

Pettigrew's  eyes  brightened ;  he  saw  escape 
in  it. 

Andrew  saw  it  too.  "  I  warn  you  to  write 
it  mighty  good,"  he  said.  "  Ef  you  don't,  I's 
gwine  to  kill  you  right  heah." 


138 


A  little  of  Pettigrew's  courage  came  back  in 
the  presence  of  Andrew's  mildness,  and  he  said, 
"  Ef  you  wuz  to  kill  me  dey'd  hang  you." 

"Dey  don't  hang  'stracted  folks,"  said  An 
drew.  "I  done  larnt  dat  at  de  'sylum,  an' 
you  know  you's  de  one  dat  tol'  'em  I  wuz 
'stracted."  He/ leaned  down  over  him  and 
peered  into  his  face. 

"  I'll  write,"  said  Pettigrew,  brokenly. 

Andrew  got  out  the  ink,  pen,  and  paper,  and 
placed  the  book  on  Pettigrew's  knee.  "  I's 
gwine  cyah  it  to  muh  little  Johnnie  fust.  He 
kin  read  writin'  mighty  good ;  jes  ez  good  ez 
you  kin,"  he  added.  "  An'  ef  dey's  anything 
wrong,  er  ef  he  cyarn't  read  it,  I's  gwine  to 
let  you  starve  to  death  right  heah." 

Pettigrew  protested.  "  What  you  warn  me 
to  write  ?"  he  asked,  feebly. 

"  Well,"  said  Andrew,  meditatively,  "  I  warn 
you  to  write  'em  what  a  nice,  white,  colored 
gent'man  I  is,  jes  like  you  done  said  to  me 
heah,  an'  dat  I  ain't  no  mo'  'stracted  den  you 
is ;  an'  I  warn  you  to  tell  'em  dat  you  done  had 
to  go  right  back  to  de  'sylum,  an'  dat  you  done 
git  de  word  fum  Wash'n'ton  dat  dey's  all  to 
vote  to-morrow  fer  muh  young  marse  John- 


'139 

me,  an'  dat  ef  dey  don't  de  word  '11  come 
fum  Wash'n'ton  'bout  it.  Kin  you  'member 
dat?" 

Pettigrew  remained  so  long  immersed  in 
thought  that  Andrew  said,  suddenly  rising : 

"  Nem  mine ;  I  don',  b'lieve  I  warn  dat  any 
ways  ;  I  is  a  'stracted  nigger,  an'  I  ruther  burn 
you  a  little  anyways."  And  he  turned  to  the 
fire  and  pulled  out  a  chunk  again. 

Pettigrew  protested  that  he  would  write, 
and  after  a  little  his  keeper  replaced  the 
chunk,  and  loosening  his  right  arm,  gave  him 
his  pen  and  book.  He  squatted  by  him,  and 
held  the  inkstand  in  one  hand  and  the  blazing 
knot  in  the  other  as  a  torch. 

"  Begin  by  tellin'  'em  what  a  nice  gent'man 
I  is,"  he  said,  following  with  his  eye  the  slow 
tracing  of  the  pen  on  the  paper.  Pettigrew 
wrote  carefully. 

"  Now  read  it,"  said  Andrew. 

He  read  it,  and  it  appeared  to  satisfy  him. 

"  Dat's  it,"  he  said,  approvingly.  "  Now  tell 
'em  how  you's  got  to  go  right  back  to  de  'sy- 
lum.  Now  read  it.  Arn  harh  !"  he  said,  nod 
ding  with  satisfaction  as  it  was  read.  "  Now 
tell  'em  how  de  word  done  come  fum  "Wash'n'- 


140 


ton,  an'  dey  mus'  vote  fer  muh  young  mars- 
ter,  an'  do  ev'y thing  jes  like  I  say."  It  was 
written. 

"  Now  sign  yo'  name  to  it,"  he  said,  "  an' 
'dress  it  to  de  meetin',  to  Brer  Johnson  ;  'cause 
I  ain't  no  great  han'  at  foldin',"  he  apologized. 
"  But  don'  seal  it,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden 
change  of  manner,  "  I  gwine  git  muh  little 
Johnnie  to  read  it ;  he  can  seal  it ;  an'  ef  dee's 
a  word  wrong  in  it,"  he  said,  leaning  down  and 
looking  at  it  keenly,  "  I  gwine  to  lef  you  heah 
to  starve  to  death.  You  'member  'bout  dat 
valentine  ?" 

The  explanation  of  his  prisoner  appeared  to 
satisfy  him,  and  he  took  the  letter  and  started 
away. 

"  You  ain'  gwine  to  lef  me  heah  in  dis  place 
by  myself,  is  you?"  asked  the  captive,  glancing 
around  fearfully. 

"  Yaas ;  you'll  have  plenty  of  company,"  said 
Andrew,  grimly.  "  Evil  sperrits  all  aroun'  heah, 
thick  as  dem  bushy  hyahs  on  yo'  head  ;  I  sees 
'em  heah  any  time;  two  on  'em  over  yonder 
now,  a-settin'  upon  dat  tombstone  grinnin'  at 
you."  He  half  turned,  faced  the  tombstone, 
and  taking  off  his  hat,  bowed  politely.  "  Good- 


141 

evenin',  marster,"  he  said.  "  Hope  you's  well 
dis  evenin'.  Dey  ain'  gwine  hu't  you  till  I  come 
back,"  he  added,  reassuringly,  to  Pettigrew, 
"  ef  you  keep  right  quiet ;  ef  you  don',  dey'll 
roas'  you  right  whar  you  settin'.  I  gwine  to 
leab  de  fire  heah  fer  'em.  Jes  keep  yo'  eye  on 
him  good,  marster,  tell  I  come  back,"  he  said, 
with  another  bow  to  the  tombstone.  He  ex 
amined  the  rope  carefully,  and  turning,  disap 
peared  with  his  letter  in  his  hat. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  he  walked  into  the 
meeting  at  the  church.  At  first,  there  was 
much  excitement  with  some  threats  against 
him,  but  his  coolness  held  them  at  bay.  He 
walked  up  to  the  desk  of  the  clerk,  and  with  a 
sudden  instinctive  power  of  command,  ordered 
him  to  call  the  meeting  to  order.  It  was  done, 
and  he  produced  his  letter.  It  created  con 
sternation  ;  but  the  writing  was  undoubted, 
and  Andrew's  story  was  too  straightforward 
and  earnest  to  be  questioned.  His  sudden 
power  of  command,  or  something,  placed  the 
meeting  under  his  control,  and  the  leaders  be 
came  his  lieutenants. 

The  next  day  the  precinct,  under  the  lead 
of  "Brer  Johnson,"  to  the  astonishment  of 


142 


every  one,  and  of  no  one  more  than  himself, 
went  solidly  for  Andrew's  "  Marse  Johnnie," 
and  he  wras  elected. 

It  was  claimed  afterwards  that  this  was  a 
trick  of  certain  politicians ;  but  it  is  due  to 
Pettigrew  to  say  that  he  never  united  in  the 
charge.  He  moved  away  from  the  county 
shortly  afterwards,  and  he  always  declared 
that,  whatever  others  might  say,  he  knew  that 
Andrew  was  "  a  'stracted  nigger." 


"RASMUS" 

UNCLE  PETER  knew  "Basmus"  as  well  as 
Kasmus  knew  him.  That  Is  saying  a  good 
deal,  for  Peter  had  worn  out  more  whipstaffs 
over  Rasmus's  head  than  he  could  count.  In 
deed,  this  gives  a  very  inadequate  idea  of  the 
number  of  whipstaffs  he  had  so  broken,  be 
cause,  as  he  himself  said,  he  "  wa'n't  no  gre't 
hand  at  countin',"  and  when  he  was  intrusted 
with  money  for  the  firm,  which  not  infrequent 
ly  happened,  he  used  to  say,  on  his  return,  as 
he  spread  it  out  on  the  table :  "  I  reckon,  Marse 
Henry,  you  had  better  count  dat  over.  I  'spec' 
it  is  all  dyah, '  cause  I  hold  my  hand  out  to  him 
right  study  after  he  done  count  once,  and  looked 
mighty  wise  until  he  counted  it  over  agin  and 
said,  *  Dat's  right,'  and  den  I  come  'long ;  but  I 
reckon  you  better  count  it  over."  The  fact  was 
that  Uncle  Peter  had  been  "  trying  "  Rasmus, 
and  Rasmus  had  been  trying  Uncle  Peter,  ever 
since  the  day  when  "the  old  mule"  (the  mule 


144 


that  the  firm  had  when  Uncle  Peter  first  came 
down  from  the  country  and  demanded  work  of 
his  "young  master,"  his  Marse  Henry,)  dropped 
dead  in  the  shafts  trying  to  back  the  dray 
up  to  the  sidewalk.  Uncle  Peter  had  truly 
mourned  for  his  mule.  He  allowed  no  one 
else  to  bury  him,  and  he  always  talked  of 
him  with  reminiscent  affection,  as  if  he  had 
been  a  beloved  member  of  his  family ;  and 
when  the  firm  took  him  down  next  day  to 
look  at  a  young  mule  in  the  pens  near  the 
stock-yards,  he  would  not  consent  to  the  pur 
chase  of  one  until  he  had  "tried"  it.  This 
was  at  least  six  years  before  the  time  herein 
referred  to ;  but  though  the  mule  had  been 
paid  for  within  forty-eight  hours,  Uncle  Peter 
never  would  admit  that  he  was  doing  anything 
but  "  tryin'  "  her.  This  he  told  Rasmus  herself 
at  least  a  dozen  times  a  day,  in  every  conceiv 
able  tone  between  that  of  the  most  inviolable 
confidence  and  that  of  the  direst  menace.  Oc 
casionally  he  even  told  the  firm  so  when  his 
threats  and  blows  floated  in  at  the  door  of  the 
warehouse  and  brought  some  one  out  to  see 
what  the  trouble  was,  and  to  expostulate  with 
him  on  his  treatment  of  Easmus.  One  day  he 


145 


actually  marched  solemnly  into  the  office,  and, 
hat  in  his  hand,  lodged  a  formal  complaint 
against  Kasmus,  declaring  that  he  had  u  done 
try  her,"  and  found  she  would  not  do. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Uncle  Peter?" 
asked  his  employer  and  former  master. 
"Doesn't  she  pull  well?" 

"  Oh  yes,  suh,  she  pull  enough.  I  'ain't  got 
no  quoil  wid  Rasmus  'bout  dat.  She  pull  well 
as  any  mule  I  ever  see,  'cep'  de  ole  mule — I 
never  see  a  mule  pull  like  him — but  she  is  de 
meanes'  mule  in  de  wull.  She  always  pull  de 
wrong  way,  and  she  won't  back  a  step  to  save 
ycx  life :  she  jes  like  a  'ooman.  Ef  you  want 
her  to  go  one  way,  she  want  to  go  turr  torectly. 
Ef  you  want  her  to  back,  she  want  to  go  for- 
rard ;  ef  you  want  her  to  go  forrard,  she  won't 
move  till  she  done  back  over  de  house.  Fs 
done  broke  more  whipstaffs  over  her  head  den 
I  could  cut  on  de  ole  place." 

The  old  man  was  mollified  with  the  state 
ment  that  he  had  better  go  back  and  "  try  her 
a  little  longer ;"  and  he  went,  muttering  that 
he  would  "try  her  jest  a  little  longer,"  and 
then  if  she  didn't  suit  he  would  send  her  back 
"  whar  she  come  from." 

10 


146 

"  Uncle  Peter,"  called  his  employer  as  he 
went  out,  "  why  do  you  call  her  Rasmus  ?" 

He  turned  back.  "  I  calls  her  Rasmus,  Marse 
Henry,  'cause  Rasmus  is  a  mule -name,  and  I 
gwine  knock  her  head  off  too  ef  she  don't 
mind."  He  went  out. 

Nothing  more  was  heard  of  the  matter  be 
yond  Uncle  Peter's  customary  threats  coming 
in  from  the  street.  He  and  Rasmus  got  along 
in  the' same  old  friendly  way,  he  ruining  whip- 
staffs  over  Rasmus's  head,  and  Rasmus  ruining 
his  temper,  until  one  day  a  new  member  of  the 
Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Ani 
mals  happened  to  come  along  just  as  Uncle  Pe 
ter  banged  his  whipstaff  over  Rasmus  in  the 
same  old  affectionate  way.  The  next  morning 
the  old  man  was  fined  ten  dollars  in  the  police 
court,  which  his  employers  paid  and  deducted 
from  his  wages.  A  short  time  after  that  his 
employer,  coming  down  the  street,  observed 
the  dray  standing  at  right  angles  to  the  side 
walk  at  some  little  distance  from  the  curb 
stone,  and  Uncle  Peter  standing  with  his  skid 
in  his  hand  immediately  in  front  of  Rasmus, 
making  violent  feints  of  beating  her  over  the 
head,  but  never  really  touching  her.  He 


147 

thought  his  failure  to  strike  her  was  due  to 
Rasmus's  dodging.  As  he  drew  near,  how 
ever,  he  heard  Uncle  Peter  talking.  With  the 
skid  uplifted  in  both  hands  as  if  ready  to 
strike,  he  was  saying  :  "  Oh  yes,  you  black 
Sat  tan,  you  !  I  know  you !  You  done  cost 
me  te*i  dollars  once,  and  you  jest  tryin'  to  git 
me  agin.  I  knows  you.  You  done  had  me 
down  dere  in  de  police  cote  'bout  hittin'  you 
over  your  black  head,  and  git  ten  dollars  right 
out  of  my  pocket,  and  you  jest  tryin'  to  make 
me  hit  you  agin.  But  you  ain't  gwine  do  it,  I 
tell  you.  You  knows  dem  Cruel  S'ciety  Ani 
mals  is  lookin'  'round  here,  and  you  jest  want 
me  to  pay  you  anurr  ten  dollars  agin.  I'd  like 
to  bust  your  black  brains  out,  but  I  wouldn't 
tetch  you  to  save  your  life.  Back,  fool!  Don't 
you  hear  me?"  He  brought  the  skid  down 
terrifically,  as  if  he  would  smash  the  mule's 
head  in,  but  stopped  just  short  of  touching 
her. 

His  employer,  amused  at  his  ire,  said,  "  Un 
cle  Peter,  I  reckon  we  had  better  sell  that 
mule  and  get  another  one  that  will  back." 

The  old  fellow's  countenance  fell.  "  Sell 
her  ?  Sell  Rasmus  ?  Nor,  suh.  Marse  Henry, 


148 


dat's  de  best  mule  in  dis  town.  She  got  de 
debbel  in  her,  dat's  all.  You  lef  her  to  me. 
I'll  make  her  back.  I'll  breck  her." 

Just  then  Rasmus,  as  if  she  understood  the 
whole  situation,  quietly  backed  up  against  the 
curbing,  and  calmly  drooping  her  head,  let  her 
ears  fall  forward,  and  peacefully  shut  her  eyes. 

Peter  went  around  and  replaced  the  skid, 
and  as  his  master  went  into  the  door  he  heard 
him  saying  to  Rasmus  :  "  Yes,  you  black  Sat- 
tan,  you  better  had  back.  You  heah  what  he 
says  ?  I's  de  only  one  done  save  you.  Nem 
mind ;  next  time  he  want  to  sell  you  I'm  gwine 
to  let  you  go.  He'd  sell  you  long  ago  ef  I'd 
let  him.  I  jest  gwine  to  try  you  a  little  long 
er.  I  boun'  den  you  will  find  somebody  dat  11 
make  you  back,  and  den  you'll  know  how 
good  I  wuz  to  you." 


HER   SYMPATHETIC  EDITOR 

editor  sat  in  his  sanctum  (the  name  for 
all  places  where  that  particular  species  of  ani 
mal  sits,  and  which  is  so  called  because  it  is 
sacred  to  every  soul  who  can  scribble  a  line 
except  the  editor  himself).  The  implements 
of  his  craft  lay  all  about  him — scissors,  paste- 
pot,  litter,  waste  -  basket,  and  all.  A  pile  of 
letters  was  before  him,  interspersed  with  MSS. 
in  that  intricacy  of  arrangement  which  only 
editors  understand,  and  which  to  the  ordinary 
mortal  would  be  the  superlative  of  disorder. 

His  associate  sat  at  a  side  desk  glancing 
over  MSS.,  and  placing  them  in  piles  for  future 
examination,  further  consideration,  or  return, 
the  second  pile  being  the  smallest,  and  the  last 
much  the  largest.  Odes  to  Spring,  Summer, 
Autumn,  and  Winter,  to  the  Snow,  the  Frost, 
to  Rain,  Hail,  and  Sunshine,  had  been  tossed 
on  the  return  pile  with  perfect  impartiality ; 
papers  on  George  Washington,  on  the  Tree- 


150 

frog,  on  the  Punic  Wars,  the  Tariff,  JSTapo- 
leon  Bonaparte,  and  Noah's  Ark,  had  experi 
enced  the  same  commendable  exemption  from 
prejudice. 

Finally  the  associate  editor  said,  "  Well, 
here  is  a  letter."  He  read  a  few  sentences, 
and  passed  the  letter  across  to  his  chief.  "  Did 
you  read  it  2" 

"  No.  It's  ten  pages,  and  I  have  only  one 
lifetime — "  exclaimed  the  other. 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  the  associate,  with  a  virt 
uous  air,  interrupting  the  further  protest. 
"  But  it's  a  woman,  and  she  says  that  she  is 
pining  for  intellectual  companionship." 

"  For  the  intellectual  companionship  of  a 
young  magazine  editor,"  cut  in  the  editor,  in 
his  turn,  casting  his  eyes  down  the  closely 
written  and  crossed  pages  to  find  the  name. 
"  Where  the  mischief  is  it  ?  Here,  find  it  if 
you  can."  He  tossed  the  letter  back  to  his 
associate.  "  I'll  wager  that  she  is  a  tall  and 
vinegary  dame  who  lets  her  husband  eat  sour 
bread  and  her  children  wear  undarned  stock 
ings,  while  she  writes  poems  on  '  The  Eternal 
Adolescence  of  the  Infinite.'  By  -  the  -  way, 
where  is  the  poem?" 


151 

"  I  bet  she  is  not ;  she  is  a  young,  fresh,  en 
thusiastic  girl  with  large  blue  eyes  and  a  rose- 
leaf  skin,  and  she  teaches  school  and  supports 
a  widowed  mother  and  two  little  sisters,  and 
sends  her  younger  brother  to  college,  and  he 
bullies  her,  and  she  writes  poems  of  Lilacs  and 
the  Sunset,"  said  her  champion,  raking  over 
the  pile  of  "Further  consideration"  papers. 
"  What's  the  name  ?"  he  asked. 

u  '  J.  L.  Speritt,'  as  well  as  I  can  make  it 
out,"  said  the  senior. 

"  But  where  is  the  poem  ?"  said  his  associate. 

"  Isn't  this  it  ?"  asked  the  editor,  looking 
into  the  waste-basket  and  picking  up  a  good- 
sized  MS.  rolled  together  as  tightly  as  paper 
can  be  rolled.  The  younger  man  took  it. 

"  Yes,  this  does  look  like  the  same  hand.  It 
must  have  fallen  into  the  basket." 

"  It  is  written  on  both  sides,  and  does  not 
appear  to  have  any  postage  enclosed  for  its 
return.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  it  was 
thrown  there." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  associate.  "  You  might 
at  least  have  taken  the  trouble  to  read  it,  for 
the  poor  young  thing  will  expect  an  answer 
anyhow.  I  wouldn't  be  as  hard-hearted  and 


152 

unsympathetic  as  you  for  anything;  and  be 
sides,  I  have  no  doubt  the  poem  is  at  least  up 
to  the  average." 

"  I  do  not  deny  that.  Let's  see.  Eead  a 
little  of  it  if  you  can.  What  is  it  called  ?" 

The  champion  began  :  "  '  Ode  to —  What 
is  this  3" 

"  Sour  Bread  ?"  suggested  his  friend. 

"Not  at  all.     'To— to'— " 

"The  Lilac  at  Sunset?" 

"  No.     '  To— My  Affinity.' " 

"  Infinity  —  the  Adolescence  of  Infinity.  I 
told  you  that  was  it." 

"No;  it's  < Affinity.'" 

"  Well,  that  supports  the  sour-bread  theory, 
anyhow.  Go  ahead." 

The  associate  persevered : 

"  'Oh,  thou  who  dwellest  from  me  far, 

Through  all  the  lonely,  languorous  hours 
Thou  art  to  me  a  shining  star 
'Mid  amaranthine  bowers.'" 

A  shade  passed  over  the  reader's  face  as  his 
senior  cut  his  eye  around  at  him,  and  he  fur 
tively  felt  to  see  how  many  stanzas  there 
were. 


153 


"  How  many  pages  are  there  ?  What  do  you 
think  we  ought  to  pay  for  that?" 

"  Well,  it  is  not  very—  But  she's  young," 
said  the  associate.  He  let  the  paper  go,  and 
it  sprang  together  like  a  coiled  wire. 

"  It  strikes  me  as  quite  '  very,'  "  said  the 
editor ;  "  but  you  are  the  poet's  friend,  and 
you  can  do  as  you  like." 

"  Well,"  said  the  younger,  after  a  pause,  "  I 
am  sincerely  sorry  for  the  poor  soul,  and  I'll 
take  it.  We  need  not  publish  it." 

"All  right,"  said  the  editor;  "but  it  would 
be  a  great  deal  better  to  write  frankly  and 
tell  her  the  thing's  rot,  and  that  she'd  better 
darn  her  children's  stockings  and  see  that  the 
bread  is  sweet." 

He  went  back  to  his  work,  and  the  associate 
editor  returned  to  his,  writing  among  his  first 
letters  one  to  the  authoress  of  the  "  Ode  to  My 
Affinity."  In  it  he  enclosed  a  check — not  a 
very  large  one — and  said  as  little  as  he  could 
about  the  poem,  which  he  pitched  into  a 
drawer. 

The  incident  was  forgotten  until  the  next 
month,  when,  a  few  days  after  the  appearance 
of  the  magazine,  the  mail  brought  a  letter  of 


154 


nineteen  pages  from  the  authoress,  express 
ing  her  disappointment  that  her  Ode  had 
not  appeared,  and  asserting  in  vigorous  lan 
guage  her  opinion  of  its  superiority  to  several 
poems  which  had  been  published.  The  asso 
ciate  editor  read  this  letter  first,  and  slipped 
it  covertly  out  of  the  way,  with  a  side  look  at 
his  senior.  He  started  to  write  a  reply,  stating 
that  magazines  were  made  up  several  months 
before  their  issue ;  but  he  thought  better  of  it, 
and  took  no  notice  of  the  letter.  During  the 
next  month  and  the  next  came  other  letters, 
each  longer  and  more  upbraiding  than  its  pred 
ecessor,  the  last  openly  declaring  the  writer's 
opinion  that  only  malicious  jealousy  or  a  more 
dishonest  motive  could  instigate  such  treat 
ment,  which  she  characterized  as  " outrageous" 
and  "  ungentlemanly." 

The  associate  had  just  read  this  letter,  and 
was  scratching  his  head  over  it,  when  the  edi 
tor,  looking  up,  caught  his  woe-begone  expres 
sion. 

"What  is  it — a  raking  from  the  poetess?" 
he  asked,  maliciously. 

"  Well,  yes,  that's  just  what  it  is,"  said  the 
associate. 


155 


Just  at  that  moment  voices  were  heard  in 
the  outer  office — the  voice  of  the  young  lady 
clerk  who  had  a  desk  there,  and  a  strange  and 
higher  voice,  which  was  doing  most  of  the 
speaking. 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  any  young 
woman ;  I  did  not  come  here  for  that.  I've  got 
five  children  older  than  you.  I  want  to  see  the 
editor,  and  I  am  going  to."  The  next  instant 
she  bounced  into  the  door,  a  sharp  little  arrow- 
faced  woman,  with  a  keen,  thin  nose,  thin  lips, 
and  small,  black,  beady  eyes,  above  which  was 
a  fringe  of  dark  hair  plastered  down  as  stiff  as 
lacquered  tin.  She  carried  a  black  bag  in  one 
hand  and  a  red  fan  in  the  other,  which  she 
brandished  as  if  it  were  a  weapon. 

"  Which  is  the  poetry  -  editor  ?  Or  maybe 
you  are  both  the  (7<mtlemen !"  (with  a  strong 
sarcastic  emphasis  on  the  first  syllable).  "  Well, 
I  have  come  to  know  what  you  have  done 
with  that  poem  I  sent  you  months  ago,  and 
which  you  accepted,  and  have  suppressed.'' 
She  seated  herself  sharply,  and  threw  out  her 
fan  with  a  whir  like  a  lasso. 

The  associate  editor,  seeing  her  intention 
to  take  possession  without  an  invitation,  said, 


156 

"  Madam,  will  you  take  a  seat  ?"  She  glared 
at  him  witheringly,  conveying  plainly  her 
declaration  that  she  did  not  need  his  permis 
sion  to  do  so. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  done  with  my  poem  ?" 
she  asked,  with  cold  severity,  as  Draco  might 
have  asked  of  some  luckless  victim  who  stood 
a  self-confessed  thief. 

"  Madam,  that  is  the  poetry  editor,"  said  the 
chief,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Ah!"  She  gave  a  sharp  half -wheel  tow 
ards  the  associate.  "Well,  I'm  glad  to  find 
the  right  person.  And  my  name  is  not  Speritt, 
nor  Spirit,  nor  Brandy,  nor  anything  like  it, 
though  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  quite  famil 
iar  with  all  those  names.  My  name  is  Spinks, 
Mrs.  Spinks,  and  a  very  good  respectable  name 
it  is,  too,  even  if  it  is  not  as  aristocratic  as  the 
one  I  gave  up  to  take  it,  which  was  Bowlings 
— though,  no  doubt,  you  never  heard  of  it,  as 
you  must  be  giving  up  all  your  time  to  read 
ing  the  stuff  you  publish,  which  is  enough  to 
make  any  one  sick  who  has  a  grain  of  the  di 
vine  afflatus  in  her  soul — being  second-cousin 
once  removed  to  Colonel  Spangles,  if  you  ever 
heard  of  him,  as  no  doubt  you  are  ready 


157 


enough  to  claim  you  have,  being  on  the  Gov 
ernor's  staff  for  three  years,  till  he  took  the 
fever  and  died,  leaving  one  of  the  biggest 
fortunes  in  the  State,  and  six  children,  and  a 
widow,  who  gives  herself  as  many  airs  as  if 
she  wa'n't  old  Sam  Malony's  daughter  that 
kept  the  bar  at  Twenty-second  Street.  Well, 
I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  know  my  rights, 
and  I  mean  to  have  them.  If  Mr.  Spinks 
had  had  a  grain  of  manhood  in  him  he'd 
have  come  down  here  and  had  that  poem 
published  in  the  very  next  number  of  the  mag 
azine  after  you  suppressed  it ;  but  he  hasn't. 
But  I  have,  and  I've  consulted  a  lawyer,  and 
he  says  it's  a  clear  case,  and  I  can  get  dam 
ages,  and  big  damages  at  that,  and  I'm  going 
to,  and  he's  one  of  the  best  lawyers  in  the 
country,  and  a  great  friend  of  mine.  What 
have  you  clone  with  it  ?" 

She  paused  for  breath  in  sheer  exhaus 
tion. 

The  associate  editor  was  speechless ;  but  the 
chief  came  to  his  rescue.  He  said,  calmly  : 

"  Madam,  we  shall  not  be  able  to  publish 
your  poem.  It  was  accepted  under  a  mistake, 
and  we  will  return  it  to  you." 


158 

Her  countenance  fell. 

"  What !"  she  began ;  but  he  was  too  quick 
for  her.  He  saw  his  advantage. 

"  The  poetry  editor  has  it  and  will  return  it 
to  you,  and  you  can  keep  the  money  we  sent 
you  in  payment  for  the  time  we  have  had  pos 
session  of  it." 

She  rose. 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  get  it  back  on  any 
terms.    If  I  were  not  too  much  of  a  lady  ever 
to  be  able  to  quarrel,  I  should  give  you  a  piece 
of  my  mind  about  it ;  but  I  never  could  quar 
rel." 

"No,  madam;  your  forte  is  poetry,"  said 
the  associate  editor,  mildly,  handing  her  the 
MS.  roll,  which  he  had  got  from  its  pigeon 
hole. 

"  Thank  you,  I  don't  want  any  compliments 
from  you,  sir,"  she  said,  as  she  seized  the  paper 
and,  unrolling  it,  looked  over  it  page  by  page  to 
see  if  any  of  it  had  been  abstracted.  Then  she 
turned  to  the  editor :  "  Good-morning,  sir.  I 
know  a  gentleman  when  I  see  him"  (turning 
her  head,  with  nose  in  the  air,  towards  the 
associate). 

She  sailed  out  with  her  fan  clutched  in  her 


159 


hand.     The  editor-in-chief,  turning  to  his  desk, 
began  to  murmur, 

"  Thou  art  to  me  a  shining  star 
'Mid  amaranthine  bowers," 

when  the  associate  said :    "  The  bread   was 
sour,  after  all,  wasn't  it  ?" 


HE  KNEW  WHAT  WAS  DUE  TO  THE 
COURT 

HE  was  one  of  the  characters  about  the 
town  when  I  first  knew  it,  and  though  I  did 
not  at  the  time  know  his  history,  and  could 
not  now  avouch  my  witnesses,  I  somehow  took 
it  in  from  the  city  at  large.  He  was  not  exactly 
a  vagabond,  for  he  had  a  house — a  brick  house 
at  that,  though  a  little  one,  and  one  of  the 
oldest  and  most  dilapidated  in  the  town ;  and 
there  was  a  garden  beside  it,  though  it  was 
nothing  more  than  a  tangle  of  bushes,  weeds, 
and  briers,  and  no  paling  was  left  to  the  old 
enclosure.  He  was  not  exactly  a  drunkard 
in  the  police  parlance,  for  though  he  was  often 
full,  he  generally  got  home  at  some  hour  of 
the  night,  however  drunk  he  might  be,  and  he 
rarely  got  into  the  police  court.  (It  may 
be  doubted  if  a  man  can  be  a  vagabond,  how 
ever  drunken  and  disreputable  he  may  be, 
if  he  has  a  house  of  his  own  to  which  he  can 


161 


retire  at  will,  and  a  garden,  however  grown 
up  and  unenclosed,  in  which  he  can  wander 
when  he  chooses.) 

If  he  was  not  a  vagabond,  however,  it  was  a 
shadowy  wall  which  withheld  him  from  being 
one ;  and  if  he  was  not  a  drunkard,  the  line 
which  divided  him  from  it  was  impalpable. 
He  was  of  a  family  which  once  owned  a  con 
siderable  part  of  the  land  on  which  the  town 
was  built.  Other  members  of  the  family  had 
got  rich  thereby,  but  he  had  grown  poorer  and 
poorer.  He  belonged  to  a  past  age,  and  was 
at  loggerheads  with  everything  new.  He  was 
a  privileged  character.  He  abused  everybody, 
but  nobody  minded  him.  If  he  said  a  biting 
thing,  every  one  laughed ;  if  he  got  drunk, 
some  one  carried  him  home  and  poked  him  in 
side  of  his  broken  door ;  if  he  got  angry,  some 
one  took  his  stick  from  him  till  he  became 
quiet.  He  was  known  universally  as  "Old 
Jerry."  How  he  lived  was  not  absolutely 
known.  TSo  one  would  have  dared  to  offer 
to  give  him  anything. 

He  had  been  sheriff  at  one  time — a  fact  of 
which  he  was  very  proud.  He  had  owned 
then  not  only  the  old  house  and  its  torn  garden, 


162 

but  the  ground  on  both  sides  of  it  where  the 
two  large  factories,  owned  by  a  nephew  and 
namesake  of  his,  a  somewhat  pompous  gentle 
man,  had  since  gone  up.  At  least,  he  claimed 
to  have  owned  this  ground,  though  the  courts 
had  decided  otherwise.  People  said  generally 
that  whiskey  and  dissipation  had  ruined  him ; 
he  said  the  man  who  owned  the  factories  on 
either  side  of  him,  and  the  rascality  of  the 
wrorld  at  large,  had  done  so,  and  he  expended 
every  resource  at  his  command  in  annoying 
him.  He  had  long  since  encumbered  the  rem 
nant  of  his  property,  the  old  house  and -gar 
den,  in  fighting  him,  and  when  he  lost  the 
suits  he  consoled  himself  by  devoting  hours  a 
day  to  vilifying  him  wherever  he  could  get  a 
hearer  to  listen,  which  was  not  difficult.  He 
always  treated  me  with  distinguished  polite 
ness,  though  I  was  counsel  against  him.  He 
was  paralyzed  at  this  time,  and  could  just 
shuffle  along  with  his  hook-handled  stick  ;  but 
his  command  of  language  was  by  no  means  as 
limited  as  his  command  of  his  limbs,  and  he 
used  to  curse  his  nephew  with  a  lavishness 
which  would  have  put  Arnulphus  to  the  blush. 
He  even  applied  to  court  to  change  his  rela- 


II1C    WAS    NOT    EXACTLY    A    VAGABOND 


163 

tive's  name,  claiming  that  he  had  no  right  to 
it ;  and  when  that  was  refused,  threatened  to 
change  his  own  name,  that  it  might  not  re 
main  the  same  with  his. 

At  length  his  kinsman's  patience  gave  way; 
the  application  to  court  to  change  his  name 
was  the  last  feather,  and  matters  culminated. 
He  applied  for  a  writ  of  lunacy,  and  Old  Jerry 
was  brought  up  before  three  justices  to  be  ex 
amined.  I  was  counsel.  We  appeared  before 
the  magistrates  in  the  justices'  room  in  a  cor 
ner  of  the  old  court-house  looking  out  over 
the  old  part  of  the  town,  where  the  fashion 
able  residences  had  been  years  before  when 
the  town  was  a  village,  but  which  was  now  al 
most  covered  by  tall  factories,  with  their  blank 
walls  and  high  chimneys.  Almost  the  only 
break  among  them  was  the  gap  immediately 
facing  the  window,  where  a  dingy  little  old 
house,  with  dormer-windows  and  a  broken 
porch,  was  set  back  in  an  unfenced  yard  filled 
with  bushes,  and  half  hidden  by  two  or  three 
scraggy  old  trees,  which  leaned  above  it  as  if 
to  rest  on  it  as  much  as  to  shelter  it. 

When  we  arrived  Old  Jerry  was  already 
there  in  charge  of  the  deputy  sheriff.  He  was 


164 

dressed  in  a  clean  shirt  which  showed  marks 
of  darning,  and  his  long  gray  beard  gave  him 
a  distinguished  air.  I  had  fallen  in  with  the 
three  magistrates  and  one  of  the  examining 
physicians  just  outside  the  door,  and  the  other 
doctor  who  had  been  summoned  soon  arrived. 
As  we  entered,  Old  Jerry  tried  to  rise.  The 
officer  said  he  need  not  get  up ;  but  he  shuffled 
to  his  feet,  and  made  a  profound  bow  to  the 
magistrates,  remaining  standing  until  they  had 
all  taken  their  seats,  when  he  tremulously  re 
sumed  his.  He  never  looked  at  his  nephew, 
though  his  manner  showed  hostility  in  every 
fibre  of  his  frame. 

"  Do  you  think  I  do  not  know  what  is  due  to 
a  court,  sir  ?  I  was  sheriff  before  you  were 
born,"  he  said  to  the  officer,  who  half  smiled 
and  said  nothing.  "  Yes,  sir,  no  deputy  either 
—High  Sheriff,  who  made  deputies,  sir."  The 
officer  still  said  nothing,  and  the  next  moment 
the  old  fellow  apologized  to  him,  declaring 
that  he  had  always  treated  him  like  a  gentle 
man.  "  Which  is  more  than  I  can  say  for  every 
one  in  this  room,"  he  added. 

There  was  a  brief  consultation  among  the 
magistrates,  and  then  the  one  who  had  issued 


165 


the  writ  said  that  they  would  begin  the  inquiry. 
The  papers  were  examined  and  found  in  form, 
and  then  the  two  doctors  were  called  upon  to 
testify.  The  evidence  was  all  one  way,  and 
was  pretty  clear.  Old  Jerry  had  persistently 
refused  for  years  to  sell  his  old  house  or 
garden,  and  had  let  bushes  grow  on  land 
worth  five  dollars  a  square  foot  till  it  was 
all  eaten  up.  He  had  pursued  his  nephew 
with  extraordinary  virulence.  There  were, 
besides,  a  great  many  other  curious  things. 
This  proved  something,  certainly;  the  doc 
tors  thought,  insanity.  Old  Jerry  sat  scorn 
fully  silent  till  they  had  both  testified.  This 
ended  the  evidence.  The  presiding  justice 
asked  him  if  he  wished  to  say  anything.  He 
said  no,  not  there — he  should  appeal ;  but  a 
moment  afterwards,  as  they  were  writing  out 
the  committal,  he  said,  suddenly,  "  There  is 
one  infamous  rascal  in  this  room."  Everybody 
looked  up.  "  I  don't  refer  to  you,  your  AVer- 
ship,  or  you,  or  you,  sir,"  to  one  justice  after 
the  other,  very  blandly.  "  I  know  too  well 
what  is  due  to  the  court ;  and  " — turning  and 
looking  at  me  very  doubtfully — "  I  don't  mean 
you,  either,  sir:  I  knew  your  father,  and  he 


166 


was  a  gentleman.  I  know  you've  been  trying 
to  help  rob  me  of  my  house  all  these  years, 
but  I  don't  blame  you;  that's  your  business 
that  you  are  paid  for.  And  I  don't  mean  you, 
or  you,"  addressing  the  doctors :  "  if  I  were 
speaking  of  fools,  I  might  not  be  able  to  over 
look  you.  I  don't  mean  you,  Mr.  Sheriff,  and" 
— more  briskly — "  I  don't  mean  myself."  He 
sat  back  and  looked  straight  ahead  of  him, 
while  his  relative  shifted  uncomfortably  in  his 
chair  and  tried  to  look  unconcerned. 

The  committal  was  made  out  and  delivered 
to  the  officer,  who,  with  some  evident  concern, 
beckoned  to  him,  on  which  he  rose  and  went 
shuffling  out,  stopping  at  the  door  to  make  a 
profound  bow  to  the  court  to  which  he  knew 
so  well  what  was  due. 

A  few  days  later  I  met  the  old  fellow 
shuffling  along  on  the  street,  and  I  suppose 
I  showed  some  surprise  in  my  face,  for  he 
stopped  and  spoke  to  me. 

"  I'm  back,  you  see,"  he  said,  cheerfully. 

"  Yes ;  how  is  it  ?" 

u  Well,  you  see,"  he  said,  "  when  I  got  to 
the  asylum  where  that  rascal  got  me  sent  the 
board  was  in  session,  and  I  knew  most  of  them, 


167 

and  their  fathers  before  them ;  and  they  asked 
me  what  I  was  doing  there,  and  I  made  a 
clean  breast  of  the  whole  thing — all  about  that 
scoundrel  who  has  been  robbing  me,  and  you, 
and  those  two  other  fools,  and  all ;  and  that 
I  had  a  damned  sight  more  sense  than  all  of 
you  put  together ;  and  they  said  they  knew 
you  all,  and  that  I  was  right." 
He  shambled  off. 


HER  GREAT  -  GRANDMOTHER'S  GHOST 

"WE  had  been  talking  of  ghosts,  in  which 
my  old  mammy  had  taught  me  to  believe. 

"I  was  not  a  particle  superstitious  in  my 
early  days,  but  I  had  a  singular  experience 
once,"  she  said,  in  her  calm,  soft  voice.  "  You 
know  my  people  all  came  from  Gloucester 
County,  and  the  old  family-place  is  there.  It 
was  too  expensive  to  keep  up  after  the  war, 
the  house  being  one  of  the  large,  old-fashioned, 
colonial  brick  mansions,  and  my  father  having 
no  taste  for  country  life  (or  rather,  perhaps,  I 
should  say  he  was  not  able  to  support  the  fam 
ily  and  educate  us  in  the  country  after  the 
neighborhood  was  broken  up).  So  he  removed 
first  to  a  city  in  Virginia,  and  then  to  New 
York.  He  never  would  sell  the  place,  but  at 
every  sacrifice  kept  it  just  as  it  was,  with  the 
old  furniture  and  all  in  it,  renting  some  of  the 
fields  out,  and  getting  a  neighbor  to  look  after 
it,  as  well  as  to  take  care  of  Uncle  Benny,  the 


169 

old  butler,  who  still  lived.  He  always  talked 
of  going  back  there,  and  used  to  tell  us  stories 
of  it  in  his  childhood,  when  the  large  grounds 
were  kept  up,  and  the  house  was  constantly 
full  of  visitors.  I  got  thus  an  accurate  idea 
of  the  house,  except  that  I  always  pictured  it 
as  being  of  immense  size,  and  I  knew  every 
room  and  crevice  in  it  as  well  as  if  I  had  been 
brought  up  there,  instead  of  never  having  seen 
it  since  I  left  it  at  three  years  old.  I  knew 
as  well  as  if  I  had  lived  there  the  old  garret 
wThere  the  trunks  and  chests  used  to  stand; 
the  wide  stairway,  with  the  landings  and  the 
turned  balusters ;  the  big  hall,  with  its  settle 
around  the  large  fireplace ;  and  the  drawing- 
rooms,  with  the  straight  -  backed  chairs,  and 
the  long  mirrors  coming  down  to  the  floor,  and 
the  old  family  portraits  on  the  walls,  from  one 
of  which  the  faded  lady  wTith  the  brown  ring 
lets  and  the  black  dress  used  to  come  down  on 
summer  evenings  and  rock  in  the  big  rose 
wood  rocking-chair,  so  that  every  one  could 
hear  her  all  over  the  house.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  my  father's  great-grandfather, 
and  having  lost  her  husband  soon  after  her 
marriage,  came  home  to  live  with  her  father. 


170 


When  he  died,  which  was  not  long  afterwards, 
she  lived  with  her  little  boy  all  alone  in  the 
house,  and  used  to  spend  hours  by  herself  in 
the  drawing-room,  sitting  in  the  rocking-chair, 
weeping  or  looking  vacantly  before  her.  Her 
servants  used  to  take  her  orders  from  her 
there.  Finally  she  was  induced  to  leave,  and 
went  away  to  visit  some  relatives ;  but  one  day 
when  the  old  butler  went  into  the  parlor  she 
was  sitting  in  her  rocking-chair  as  usual,  only 
paler  than  ever.  She  did  not  seem  to  know 
him,  and  asked  who  he  was,  and  then  sent  him 
to  look  for  her  carriage,  saying  she  was  going 
away.  There  was  no  carriage  in  sight,  nor  had 
any  been  seen  to  drive  up,  and  when  he  went 
back  she  was  dead  in  her  chair.  How  she  got 
there  no  one  knew.  My  father  always  said  I 
looked  like  her. 

"  My  father  died  suddenly,  you  know,  with 
out  ever  having  fulfilled  his  wish  to  go  back 
there  to  end  his  days.  I  was  seized  immedi 
ately  with  an  irresistible  desire  to  see  the 
place,  and  I  wrote  to  his  old  friend  and  neigh 
bor  that  I  should  come  down  on  a  particular 
day  to  see  it.  He  wrote  me  that  he  would  be 
delighted  to  see  me,  and  would  meet  me  at  the 


171 

wharf  some  miles  off.  The  impulse  to  go,  how 
ever,  was  so  strong  that  I  could  not  wait  till 
the  clav  I  had  appointed  ;  so  I  packed  up  and 
set  out  at  once.  I  thus  arrived  at  the  wharf 
two  or  three  days  before  I  was  expected,  and 
there  was  no  one  to  meet  me.  The  man  who 
kept  the  little  store  there,  however,  learning 
where  I  was  going,  kindly  agreed  to  send  me 
over  to  my  destination,  and  called  a  boy  to 
hitch  a  horse  to  a  buggy;  and  when  I  asked 
him  what  I  should  pay  him,  declined  to  re 
ceive  pay,  saying  that  he  was  in  my  father's 
company  during  the  war,  and  never  charged 
neighbors  anything,  and  the  horse  wasn't  do 
ing  anything,  anyhow. 

"  I  however  insisted  on  paying  something, 
and  he  finally  named  a  price  which  was  so 
low  that  I,  who  was  used  to  city  charges,  felt 
all  day  as  if  I  had  robbed  him.  The  hitching 
up  of  the  horse  took  some  time,  but  I  did  not 
mind  it,  for  my  new  friend  said  dinner  was 
ready,  and  I  must  come  over  and  get  some.  I 
saw  that  he  wanted  me,  and  I  went  over  to 
the  little  house  back  in  a  yard  behind  the 
store.  There  I  was  received  by  a  motherly 
woman,  who  made  me  welcome,  and  was  set 


172 


down  to  a  plain  but  substantial  dinner.  My 
hosts  seemed  to  know  all  about  the  gentleman 
to  whose  house  I  was  going,  and  assured  me 
that  he  would  be  very  glad  to  see  me.  I  asked 
them  if  they  had  ever  been  to  the  old  place. 
The  man  said  he  had,  and  that  it  had  been  a 
fine  place  once.  The  woman  gave  a  little  half- 
nervous  laugh.  i  I  'ain'  ever  been  there,'  she 
said,  'and  I  don't  want  to  go.'  I  asked  her 
why.  '  Too  many  ghosts  there,'  she  laughed, 
as  if  half  ashamed  of  her  superstition.  Her 
husband  pooh-poohed  it,  but  she  stuck  to  her 
point.  '  They  say  that  old  lady  can  be  seen 
there  any  time  in  broad  daylight,  and  that  old 
negro  too ;  and  they'd  be  sure  to  be  there  now 
the  place  has  been  shut  up  so  long.'  I  said 
that  I  was  not  afraid  of  ghosts. 

"  In  a  short  time  I  was  on  the  way  in  a  lit 
tle  rickety,  high-pitched  buggy,  which  made 
as  much  noise  as  a  coach,  with  my  host's  son, 
Tommy,  a  sleepy -looking,  shock -headed  boy 
of  fourteen,  as  my  driver.  I  found  that  Tom 
my  did  not  believe  in  ghosts;  but  he  admit 
ted  that  he  did  not  like  graveyards  at  night, 
though  he  did  not  mind  them  in  the  day,  and 
he  didn't  care  to  go  around  old  deserted  houses 


173 


alone  even  in  the  daytime.  He  had  never  been 
to  our  old  place,  and  would  not  care  to  go  by 
himself,  though  he  would  not  admit  that  he 
was  afraid  to  do  so. 

"We  had  been  on  the  road  over  an  hour, 
most  of  the  time  driving  through  what  seemed 
to  me  an  unbroken  forest,  with  only  a  cabin 
now  and  then  to  break  the  monotony,  though 
Tommy  occasionally  pointed  to  dim  roads  go 
ing  off  into  the  woods,  and  indicated  them  as 
Mrs.  So-and-So's  place.  Presently,  he  point 
ed  to  a  road  almost  grown  up.  '  That's  your 
place,'  he  said.  Suddenly  an  irresistible  im 
pulse  seized  me,  and  I  asked  him  if  he  would 
mind  going  in  there  with  me.  He  said  not, 
though  he  was  evidently  surprised  and  a  lit 
tle  startled ;  and  as  we  drove  along  the  old 
road,  washed  into  gullies  and  grown  up  in 
weeds,  he  intimated  that  wre  should  probably 
see  the  lady  in  black  and  her  old  negro.  ^\\re 
had  to  go  up  and  down  several  hills,  though 
none  very  high,  and  cross  one  or  two  fields 
which  were  in  a  partial  state  of  cultivation, 
which  he  said  was  done  by  renters.  Then 
we  came  to  the  last  hill,  on  which  the  house 
stood. 


174 


"  The  grounds  were  really  quite  extensive, 
or  had  been,  for  the  fence  around  the  house 
and  yard  had  once  enclosed  several  acres.  It 
was  now  all  broken  down,  and  many  of  the 
trees  were  gone,  so  that  the  old  house,  stand 
ing  up  stark  in  the  hot  sunlight,  looked  gaunt 
and  bare.  I  remembered  that  my  father  had 
had  a  tenant  at  one  time  in  the  yard,  and  that 
he  had  turned  him  off  because  he  cut  down  so 
many  of  the  yard  trees. 

"  The  grass  was  very  short,  which  my  com 
panion  explained  by  stating  that  the  house 
field  was  rented  as  a  pasture,  and  the  sheep 
and  cows  liked  to  graze  around  an  old  house 
spot.  '  That's  the  graveyard,'  he  said,  point 
ing  to  a  group  of  tombstones,  some  still  stand 
ing,  and  others  lying  about,  off  to  one  side 
under  a  clump  of  trees  which  I  knew  had  once 
been  in  the  garden.  I  made  him  drive  across 
the  grass  to  it,  but  did  not  get  out  there.  A 
small  flock  of  sheep  were  lying  down  among 
the  old  tombs.  The  place  did  not  appear  very 
terrifying,  and  as  I  wished  to  be  left  to  wan 
der  about  quite  alone,  I  told  my  companion 
that  he  could  drive  back  down  the  road  a  few 
hundred  yards  and  wait  for  me.  He  seemed 


175 


to  be  relieved,  for  he  had  hardly  taken  his  eyes 
from  the  old  door  since  we  drove  up,  as  if  he 
momentarily  expected  the  ghostly  lady  and 
her  sable  butler  to  walk  out  on  us,  and  he  ac 
cepted  my  proposal  with  alacrity,  though  he 
evidently  regarded  me  as  demented.  He  drove 
over  towards  the  house,  and  I  sprang  out,  and 
he  rattled  off  across  the  grass  and  was  soon 
out  of  sight,  though  for  some  little  time  I 
could  hear  his  vehicle.  I  stood  and  gazed  at 
the  house  with  a  strange  feeling.  It  filled  me 
with  emotion;  I  was  fascinated  by  it.  Here 
was  where  my  father  was  born,  and  had  lived, 
and  where  I  was  born,  the  last  of  my  branch 
of  the  family.  The  silence  and  softness  of  the 
warm  summer  afternoon  settled  down  about 
me,  and  I  walked  about  on  the  short  grass 
under  the  trees  almost  as  if  I  were  in  a  trance. 
The  sound  of  a  cat-bird  from  time  to  time  in  a 
clump  of  locust -bushes  seemed  to  fill  all  the 
quiet  air,  and  when  it  ceased  the  stillness  was 
almost  painful ;  the  sunlight  glistened  in  wa 
vering  billows  above  the  ground.  I  observed 
that  several  of  the  window-shutters  were  open 
—blown  back,  I  judged,  in  some  wind.  I  went 
up  the  steps  and  walked  to  the  front  door; 


176 

but  it  was  fastened.  I  put  my  eye  close  to  the 
cobweb  -  filled  windows  beside  the  door  and 
peeped  in.  I  could  see  the  wide  hall  dimly 
lighted  through  the  large  fan-shaped  transom 
over  the  door.  The  big  fireplace  had  the  old 
brass  andirons  in  it,  and  the  settle  beside  it, 
and  there  were  several  old  chairs  ranged  back 
along  the  walls.  I  could  see  the  end  of  the 
wide  staircase  where  it  came  down. 

"I  went  around  and  tried  a  door  at  the  side, 
and  found  it  either  unlocked  or  so  shrunken 
that  the  bolt  did  not  catch,  and  I  could  push 
it  open.  This  let  me  into  a  narrow  passage 
way  which  I  knew  led  into  the  hall ;  so,  leav 
ing  the  door  slightly  ajar,  I  went  in.  The 
place  was  oppressively  close,  and  I  went  over 
to  the  front  door  to  try  to  open  it,  instinctive 
ly  stepping  softly  to  prevent  any  sound  of  my 
footsteps.  It  was  fastened  by  a  bar  across, 
and  I  found  it  so  difficult  to  undo  that  I  let 
it  alone,  and  went  to  the  door  of  the  drawing- 
room  or  parlor  on  the  right,  one  window-shut 
ter  of  which  I  knew  had  blown  open. 

"  I  found  the  door  unlocked,  and  entered. 
The  room  was  large  and  high-pitched,  and 
filled  with  old-fashioned,  stiff,  black  furniture. 


177 

A  half-dozen  old  portraits,  more  or  less  faded, 
hung  on  the  walls  in  frames  dim  with  age 
and  neglect.  At  the  windows  hung  old-fash 
ioned,  yellow,  brocaded  satin  curtains  very 
much  worn,  and  two  long  pier-glasses  in  gilt 
frames  reached  from  the  floor  almost  to  the 
ceiling,  and  repeated  everything  in  the  room. 
It  was  too  dim  to  see  much,  so  I  put  back  a  cur 
tain  to  let  in  a  little  more  light — it  was  thick 
with  dust — and  opened  the  window  to  get  the 
air.  Among  the  pictures  the  most  striking 
one  was  that  of  a  lady  in  deep  black  which 
hung  over  the  old  mantel-piece.  I  knew  at 
once  that  she  was  my  ghostly  great- grand 
mother  ;  but  I  was  struck  by  two  things :  she 
was  not  half  as  old  as  I  had  always  imagined 
her  to  be ;  indeed,  hardly  more  than  a  girl,  and 
even  in  the  dim  light  I  could  see  the  resem 
blance  to  myself.  This  picture  fascinated  me. 
Whichever  way  I  turned,  those  large  melan 
choly  eyes  followed  me,  until  I  forgot  every 
thing  else  and  could  look  only  at  them.  The 
light  was  not  good  on  it  where  it  hung,  and 
I  climbed  upon  a  chair  and  tried  to  take 
the  picture  down  to  place  it  in  a  better  light ; 
as  I  did  so,  the  cord,  rotted  with  age,  gave 


way,  and  it  came  near  falling.  I  caught  it, 
however,  and,  stepping  down,  set  it  on  a  chair 
against  the  wall  opposite  the  window,  and 
pulling  up  a  large  rocking-chair,  took  my  seat 
where  I  could  see  it  well.  As  I  sat  there  a 
strange  feeling  came  over  me.  To  think  that 
I,  sitting  alone  in  that  old  house,  was  the  last 
survivor  of  my  family.  Suddenly  I  felt  a  sin 
gular  nearness  to  the  woman  in  the  frame 
before  me.  Of  all  who  had  lived  there  only 
two  could  come  back — for,  at  least,  she  could 
come  back  to  me,  if  only  in  imagination. 
She,  too,  had  suffered ;  she,  too,  had  sat  there 
in  her  loneliness,  where  I  sat  now  in  mine. 
If  I  might  but  die  there  in  that  chair,  as 
she  had  died,  and  be  at  rest !  How  long  I 
sat  there  I  do  not  know,  but  I  seemed  in  a 
little  while  to  have  changed  places  with  the 
woman  in  the  chair;  she  was  in  the  rocking- 
chair  and  I  was  in  that  by  the  wall. 

"  I  became  gradually  conscious  of  a  presence. 
I  opened  my  eyes,  and  they  fell  on  the  long  mir 
ror  to  my  right.  In  it  I  saw  through  the  open 
door  a  man  —  an  old  negro  man  he  seemed, 
though  the  shadow  of  the  door  on  his  face  pre 
vented  my  seeing  him  plainly.  He  wore  a 


179 

curious-looking  old  beaver  hat,  and  had  a  very 
serious  expression  on  his  face.  His  hand  was 
on  the  knob,  and  he  pushed  the  door  noiselessly 
wider  open  as  if  to  enter.  At  sight  of  me  he 
stopped  short,  with  a  startled  look  on  his  face, 
and  the  next  moment  took  off  his  hat  and 
bowed  low.  i  Your  sarvent,  mistis,'  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice.  I  was  afraid  to  move.  Was 
he  a  burglar  or  what?  I  tried  to  speak,  but 
my  throat  and  tongue  were  dry,  and  though  I 
made  a  motion  with  my  lips,  there  was  no 
sound.  I  did  not  dare  to  take  my  eyes  from 
the  mirror.  Presently,  with  an  effort,  I  said, 
without  moving,  i  What  do  you  want  ?'  <  I  am 
the  butler,  ma'am,'  he  said,  with  another  low 
bow,  his  voice  sounding  very  far  away.  l  Do 
you  live  here  ?'  '  Yes,  ma'am ;  dat  is,  I  did  live 
heah,'  he  said,  with  some  hesitation.  Think 
ing  that  if  lie  had  any  malicious  intention  it 
might  be  well  to  let  him  know  that  I  had  a 
companion  not  far  off,  I  said,  as  quietly  as  I 
could,  *  It  is  time  for  me  to  go.  Do  you  see 
my  vehicle  out  there  ?'  He  seemed  to  bow. 
I  turned  quickly  towards  the  door;  but  the 
door  was  shut.  For  the  first  time  my  nerves 
seemed  shaken.  What  was  he  ?  After  a  mo- 


180 


merit's  hesitation  I  roused  myself  and  came  out 
into  the  hall.  It  was  empty.  I  made  my  way 
out  by  the  same  door  by  which  I  had  entered. 
It  stood  slightly  ajar  as  I  had  left  it.  In  the 
sunlight  my  courage  revived,  and  I  went  over 
to  the  old  graveyard  where  the  sheep  lay  in 
the  sunshine  and  let  me  walk  among  them, 
only  one  or  two  jumping  up  and  running  off 
quickly  a  few  paces,  sneezing,  with  their  noses 
to  the  ground.  The  cat-bird  still  sang  in  the 
clump  of  bushes  among  the  tombs.  Of  course 
the  one  tomb  which  interested  me  more  than 
all  the  others  was  that  of  my  great -grand 
mother.  It  lay  behind  the  bushes  in  which 
the  cat-bird  sang.  She  had  died  at  the  age  of 
twenty-two,  just  my  age  then.  A  sheep-path 
led  through  a  break  in  the  fence  out  towards 
the  road,  and  I  took  it  and  passed  out  that 
way.  I  found  my  driver  almost  in  a  fit  over 
my  long  absence.  He  was  sure  that  I  had 
been  caught  by  a  ghost.  I  did  not  tell  him 
what  I  had  seen. 

"  On  my  arrival  my  host  received  me  with 
great  cordiality,  and  offered  to  drive  me  over 
to  the  old  place  that  evening ;  but  the  hot  sun 
had  given  me  a  headache.  Old  Uncle  Benny 


181 

was  even  more  delighted  to  see  me.     He  ap 
peared  almost  startled  at  my  looks. 

"'Lord,  master!  You  is  like  old  mistis,'  he 
exclaimed.  i  Am  I  ?  Like  my  grandmother  '*' 
'  Norm ;  like  you'  pa's  grandma — like  dat  one 
whar  hang  on  de  wall,  an'  walk  all  'bout 
dyah,  and  come  down  and  set  in  her  big  cheer 
in  de  parlor.'  'But  you  never  saw  her?'  I 
said.  '  'Ain't  I  ?  Yes,  'm !  I  is,  too.  Done 
see  her  and  talk  to  her  too.  You  know  my 
granddaddy  he  wuz  de  butler  dyah  in  her  time, 
jes  like  I  wuz  in  you'  pa's  time,  an'  dee  say  I 
is  jes  like  him ;  maybe  dat's  de  reason  she  so 
frien'ly  to  me.  I  done  see  her  right  in  broad 
daylight;  I  see  her  settin'  in  her  big  cheer,  an' 
I  see  her  when  she  come  out  an'  tuck  her  ker- 
rige  to  drive  back  to  the  graveyard.  You 
know  she  so  proud  she  have  her  kerrige  even 
to  drive  herself  from  de  graveyard  to  de  house, 
and  you  is  jes  like  her.'  I  said,  '  Yes,  my 
father  always  said  I  was  like  her.' " 


RACHEL'S   LOVERS 

RACHEL  was  as  black  as  a  crow,  or,  more 
poetically,  as  a  sloe,  but  this  did  not  prevent 
her  from  being  a  belle  on  the  plantation ;  and 
though  she  had  reached  the  mature  age  of 
twenty  without  taking  a  husband,  it  was  not 
for  want  of  offers,  for  she  had  had  many. 
She  was,  indeed,  the  belle  of  the  plantation ; 
but  she  was  also  the  flirt,  and  more  than  the 
usual  number  of  the  young  bucks  had  endeav 
ored  to  secure  her  without  success.  Finally  it 
was  supposed  that  Stable -Dick  had  won  the 
prize  and  captured  the  sable  nymph's  coy  af 
fections,  and  the  other  lovers  fell  back.  Dick 
was  a  strapping  young  fellow,  with  shoulders 
almost  as  broad  as  his  stable -door,  and  was 
as  black  as  Rachel  herself.  He  had  been  her 
adorer  ever  since  she  was  twelve  years  old, 
and  Jacob  never  served  her  historical  name 
sake  more  faithfully  or  joyfully  than  Dick  did 
this  ebon  damsel.  On  St.  Valentine's  Day  he 


183 


had  for  many  years  gotten  his  young  master 
Charlie  (several  years  his  junior)  to  write  her 
valentines,  until  they  had  utilized  all  the  verses 
in  the  category  of  scalloped  missives,  with 
many  of  their  own  invention,  which  were  more 
original  than  poetic ;  at  Christmas  he  had,  with 
unwavering  loyalty,  given  her  presents  which 
took  all  of  the  little  tips  he  had  received  from 
gentlemen  whose  horses  he  had  taken  during 
the  preceding  months,  and  had  requested  her 
to  "accept  his  company"  at  the  Christmas  par 
ties  with  unvarying  fidelity,  taking  her  cus 
tomary  refusal  with  as  much  meekness  as  he 
took  her  occasional  acquiescence  with  joy. 
Thus,  when  Rachel  finally  smiled  on  him,  and 
one  year,  along  towards  the  fall,  began  to  ac 
cept  his  attentions,  there  was  a  general  indorse 
ment  of  her  action  on  the  plantation  which  was 
akin  to  sentiment.  Rachel  herself  felt  the  in 
fluence  of  it  enough  to  openly  encourage  Dick, 
and  the  wedding  began  to  be  talked  about  as 
one  of  the  events  which  wrere  to  make  Christ 
mas  notable.  Dick  was  already  in  the  sixth 
heaven,  and  was  getting  ready  to  climb  into 
the  seventh,  when  a  bar  was  placed  across  the 
entrance.  On  the  plantation  there  was  one 


184 


of  the  characters  which  were  almost  always 
found  on  large  plantations — an  old  darky  who 
was  always  ready  to .  shirk  his  duty,  and  to 
live,  so  to  speak,  by  his  wits,  evading  both  his 
work  and  the  other  regulations  of  the  planta 
tion.  He  was  generally  a  wag  and  occasion 
ally  something  of  a  wit ;  or,  failing  this  rare 
possession,  he  made  good  his  position  by  a  cer 
tain  assurance  which  might  take  the  form  of 
grand  ness  of  manner  or  of  mere  impudence. 
Uncle  Isaac  was  of  the  latter  class.  He  had 
no  wit ;  he  was  a  drunkard,  a  liar,  and  a  shirk 
er;  but  he  possessed  a  certain  Chesterfieldian 
manner,  copied  from  that  of  his  old  master, 
and  so  notably  like  it  that  it  gave  him  an  air 
of  distinction  which  no  woman  on  the  place 
seemed  able  to  resist,  and  which,  when  re- 
enforced  by  constant  reference  to  former  com 
panionship  with  his  master,  and  to  a  certain 
blue  coat  with  brass  buttons  which  his  master 
had  once  given  him,  impressed  even  the  men. 
He  was,  moreover,  something  of  an  exhorter ; 
not  a  preacher  exactly,  for  he  was  far  too  fond 
of  drink  to  enable  him  to  shine  in  that  role ; 
but  he  supported  acceptably  that  of  exhorter, 
and  his  exhortations  were  the  more  impressive 


185 


in  that,  whatever  his  life  was,  he  was  a  most 
sincere  believer  in  a  personal  Satan,  with  the 
most  realistic  accompaniments  of  fork,  fire,  and 
brimstone.  Perhaps  it  was  the  fact  of  the 
former  companionship  with  his  old  master 
which  gained  the  old  man  indulgence  from  his 
"young  master"  (Charlie's  father),  and  made 
him  shut  his  eyes  to  infractions  of  the  planta 
tion  law  which  would  have  got  any  other  per 
son  on  it  into  trouble. 

Isaac  had  already  had  four  wives,  two  of 
whom  had  departed  in  what  is  known  as  "the 
ordinary  course  of  nature,"  their  exit  certainly 
facilitated  if  not  caused  by  his  treatment,  and 
the  other  two  of  whom  had  departed  in  a  dif 
ferent  course,  having  left  him  because  they 
were  unable  to  stand  his  whippings,  which 
were  said  to  be  not  only  frequent,  but  tre 
mendous.  This  did  not,  however,  at  all  im 
pair  Uncle  Isaac's  popularity  with  the  sex,  and 
his  last  wife  had  barely  been  borne  from 
his  cabin  when  the  old  man  was  a  declared 
lover  of  Rachel,  as  well  as  of  one  or  two  less 
popular  damsels,  urging  as  his  excuse  for  such 
promptness  that  text  of  Scripture  which  de 
clares  that  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone. 


186 

In  fact,  the  old  fellow  was  notably  afraid  to 
be  by  himself,  believing  firmly  that  he  was  in 
clanger  of  being  carried  off  bodily  by  the  fiend 
unless  he  had  some  living  thing  with  him. 
He  was  accustomed  to  fortify  himself  during 
his  periodical  terms  of  widow erhood  with  a 
cat.  The  presence  of  a  cat  he  believed  to  bring 
good-luck.  "When  cat  woan'  notice  rat,  den 
look  out,"  he  used  to  say.  Whether  it  was  that 
the  idea  of  proving  successful  where  four  wom 
en  had  already  failed,  or  whether  it  was  the 
eclipsing  of  Molly  and  Betty ;  whether  it  was 
the  magnificent  airs  and  grandiloquent  speech 
of  old  Isaac,  or  whether  it  was  only  the  natural 
perversity  of  her  sex  that  decided  Rachel  need 
not  be  discussed ;  but  the  October  Sunday  that 
Uncle  Isaac  appeared  at  the  big  baptizing  in  his 
old  master's  blue  coat  and  brass  buttons,  which 
he  wore  only  when  he  was  "  setting  up  to  "  his 
several  wives,  and  held  his  old  umbrella  over 
Rachel,  decided  the  fate  of  poor  Stable-Dick ; 
and  though  Isaac,  after  a  most  impressive 
exhortation,  got  so  full  that  he  fell  down  and 
broke  his  umbrella,  and  Rachel  had  to  hold 
the  now  damaged  article  over  him  instead 
of  his  holding  it  over  her,  she  incontinently 


187 


accepted  him  and  sent  poor  Dick  adrift.  She 
even  went  so  far  as  to  agree  to  marry  the  old 
fellow  without  waiting  for  Christmas,  but,  fort 
unately  for  Dick,  their  master  interposed,  and 
declared  that  he  would  not  permit  Isaac  to  mal 
treat  any  more  wives,  and  would  not  consent 
to  his  marrying  until  he  had  reformed,  and 
had  proved  his  sincerity  by  his  abstinence  for 
a  certain  period.  This  period  he  at  first  fixed 
at  six  months,  but  upon  the  joint  application 
of  both  Isaac  and  Rachel  he  agreed  to  reduce 
it  to  less  than  three,  and  set  Christmas  Eve  as 
the  final  limit. 

Perhaps  the  master  thought  that  in  this  case 
two  months  were  as  good  as  six,  and  that 
Isaac  would  no  more  hold  out  that  time  than 
he  would  an  eternity.  At  least,  every  one  else 
thought  so,  except  Dick ;  but  Dick  surrendered 
himself  to  despair.  He  moped  around  in  the 
blackness  of  gloom,  dividing  his  time  between 
consigning  the  entire  female  sex  of  the  African 
race  to  the  lowest  depths  of  perdition,  and  try 
ing  to  get  the  faithless  Rachel  to  give  him  even 
the  smallest  share  of  her  thought.  Finally, 
he  went  so  far  as  to  apply  to  his  master  and 
ask  to  be  sold  in  the  South.  This  was  serious 


188 


enough  to  call  for  the  intervention  of  authority. 
The  next  thing  might  be  a  runaway,  or  even 
suicide,  and  Dick  was  told  that  if  Isaac  did  not 
hold  out,  no  further  coquetting  on  Rachel's 
part  would  be  allowed,  and  she  should  become 
his  bride.  Rachel  also  was  notified,  and  simply 
giggled  over  this  disposal  of  her  freedom. 
This  did  not  help  her  unhappy  adorer,  who 
was  not  comforted  even  by  his  young  master 
Charlie's  sympathetic  assurance  that  Isaac 
would  never  hold  out.  "  That  ole  drunk  fool 
'11  hold  out  jest  out  o'  pure  cussedness,"  said 
he.  It  did,  indeed,  look  as  if  Dick's  apprehen 
sion  was  well-founded,  and  as  week  after  week 
went  by,  Dick's  spirits  and  those  of  his  young 
master  and  ally  sank.  Charlie  tried  to  secure 
his  father's  assistance  in  the  cause,  but  was 
told  that  his  word  had  been  given  to  both 
Rachel  and  Isaac,  and  must  stand.  If  Rachel 
chose  to  make  a  fool  of  herself,  it  was  her  right 
as  a  woman.  Rachel  made  the  most  of  her 
opportunity,  and  flounced  about  and  flouted 
poor  Dick  with  the  cruelty  and  arrogance  of 
a  much  more  advanced  state  of  civilization. 
Two  days  before  Christmas  Eve  Uncle  Isaac 
got  an  indulgence.  He  "had  to  get  ready  to 


189 

be  married."  He  shut  himself  up  in  his  house, 
and  was,  or  seemed  to  be,  getting  it  in  readi 
ness  for  his  fifth  bride.  Eachel,  too,  occupied 
herself  in  getting  ready,  with  her  young  mis 
tress's  assistance,  and  enjoyed  the  notoriety  of 
her  position  as  much  as  the  most  fashionable 
bride  could  have  done.  Stable-Dick  confined 
himself  to  the  stable,  and  bemoaned  his  fate 
into  the  sympathetic  ear  of  his  young  master. 
At  length  it  occurred  to  that  astute  ally  to  go 
and  see  what  direct  intercession  with  the  tri 
umphant  rival  might  avail.  He  sought  Isaac 
in  his  cabin  and  made  known  his  mission, 
when  he  was  received  with  so  much  scorn  that 
he  nearly  burst  into  tears.  The  disappoint 
ment  was  too  much. 

"Uncle  Isaac,  you  know  you  are  three  times 
as  old  as  Kachel,"  he  asserted,  "  and  Dick  is 
just  the  right  age." 

"  Dat's  so  much  de  better,"  said  the  old  man, 
with  a  guffaw.  "  I'll  know  how  to  manage 
her ;  'ooman  and  chillern  needs  management ; 
hit's  jes  like  physic  to  'em.  I  got  de  physic 
for  her."  He  glanced  up  at  a  peg  in  the  wall 
from  which  hung  a  large  bunch  of  hickories, 
which  rumor  said  he  had  often  used  during  his 


190 


earlier  periods  of  matrimony  on  Rachel's  pred 
ecessors.  Some  of  the  switches  looked  new 
enough  to  suggest  replenishment. 

Charlie's  eye  caught  the  direction  of  his,  and 
he  fired  up.  "  I'm  going  to  tell  Rachel,"  he 
said.  "  You  know  you  beat  your  other  wives 
scandalously." 

The  old  fellow  looked  at  him  angrily.  "  Dat's 
some  lie  o'  dat  black  trundle-bed-trash  nigger 
Stable-Dick,"  he  said,  scornfully.  "  I'll  trick 
him  if  he  fool  wid  me.  I  jes  keep  dem  switches 
to  whup  my  cat." 

Charlie's  last  arrow  was  gone.  His  eyes 
filled  with  tears  at  the  failure  of  his  mission. 
"  Uncle  Isaac,"  he  said,  "  if  you'll  give  Rachel 
up  I'll  pay  you." 

He  did  not  see  the  change  in  the  old  man's 
face,  nor  the  shrewd  look  which  crossed  it. 
"  How  much  you  gwine  gi'  me  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Well,  I've  got  a  dollar  and  a  half,  and  I'll 
get  another  dollar  in  my  stocking  Christmas 
morning."  He  paused  to  see  if  he  had  any 
other  available  assets. 

"Is  you  got  any  ole  umbrella  you  kin  gi' 
me  ?"  asked  the  trader  for  a  wife. 

;  but  I  think  I  could  get  mamma 


191 


to  give  me  one.  There  are  several  in  the 
house." 

"Well,  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do:  if  you'll  go 
and  git  me  de  dollar  an'  a  half  right  now,  and 
'11  git  me  de  best  umbrella  you  kin,  an'  '11 
promise  me  to  gi'  me  your  dollar  Christmas 
mornin',  I'll  see  'bout  it." 

Charlie  promised  faithfully,  and  rushed 
away,  too  eager  to  carry  out  his  part  of  the 
bargain  to  notice  the  other  party's  sharp  look, 
or  hear  his  gibe :  "  Yes,  I  gwine  see  'bout  it, 
an'  dat's  all  I  is  gwine  do." 

A  few  minutes  later  Charlie  returned  with 
the  dollar  and  a  half,  his  entire  available  as 
sets,  and  having  deposited  it,  with  a  statement 
that  he  thought  he  could  get  the  umbrella, 
rushed  away  to  report  to  Dick  the  happy  re 
sult  of  his  mission. 

Later  that  evening  Charlie  returned  to  the 
old  man's  cabin  to  learn  his  decision,  but  the 
cabin  was  locked,  and  a  survey  of  it  through 
the  cat-hole  revealed  only  Uncle  Isaac's  black 
cat  "  Torm "  lying  on  the  hearth  before  the 
fire,  tied  to  an  old  plough  -  point,  which  wras 
the  old  man's  mode  of  insuring  his  continual 
presence. 


192 

A  few  hours  later  a  figure  in  the  darkness 
approached  the  cabin  door  with  curiously  un 
steady  steps.  Something  in  a  bag  was  slung 
over  its  shoulder.  There  was  a  long  fumbling 
over  the  lock,  and  then  the  door  opened,  the 
figure  disappeared  inside,  and  the  door  was 
shut. 

The  next  day  Uncle  Isaac  did  not  appear. 
Charlie's  most  earnest  appeals  outside  of  the 
fastened  door  failed  to  bring  any  answer. 

The  cat -hole  was  stopped  up,  so  that  the 
interior  of  the  room  was  beyond  inspection. 
Charlie  was  running  off  to  announce  the  old 
man's  disappearance,  when  the  smoke  from 
the  chimney  caught  his  eye.  All  during  the 
day  he  made  repeated  visits  to  the  cabin,  but 
neither  hammering  nor  calling  could  elicit  any 
response.  At  last,  about  dusk,  his  impatience 
became  too  strong,  and  he  applied  himself  to 
making  a  "  chink  "  through  which  he  could  see 
if  Isaac  were  really  inside.  After  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  he  succeeded  in  making  a  good  hole, 
and,  stooping  down,  he  peeped  in.  In  another 
moment  he  was  speeding  breathless  towards 
the  place  where  he  knew  Dick  was,  and  five 
minutes  later  that  young  Hercules  was  lying 


193 


stretched  out  on  the  frozen  ground,  with  his 
eye  screwed  to  the  hole  Charlie's  industry 
had  made.  What  they  saw  inside  was  Uncle 
Isaac  sitting  in  front  of  his  fire  as  drunk  as 
a  lord,  with  a  large  jug  between  his  wabbling 
knees. 

The  next  minute  Charlie  was  in  Stable- 
Dick's  arms,  being  whirled  about  at  the  risk 
of  losing  his  head  in  the  latter's  joyful  gyra 
tions.  There  was  a  hasty  and  whispered  col 
loquy,  interrupted  by  Charlie's  giggles  as  he 
unfolded  some  plan,  and  then  the  boy  rushed 
off,  followed  by  Dick,  his  big  white  teeth  look 
ing  like  rows  of  corn.  When,  a  half -hour  later, 
the  two  returned,  Charlie  had  equipped  him 
self  with  a  long  fishing -pole,  a  powder-horn, 
and  one  or  two  other  articles :  Dick  had  a 
ladder.  They  peeped  in  at  the  hole.  Uncle 
Isaac  still  sat  as  they  had  left  him,  only  drunker 
than  before.  He  was  fast  asleep,  and  his  old 
cat  lay  dozing  nearer  to  the  sinking  fire.  A 
noise  roused  the  old  fellow,  and  he  sat  up. 
His  eye  fell  on  his  jug,  and  he  lifted  it  un 
steadily  and  took  a  drink  from  it.  It  seemed 
to  revive  him.  "Whiskey  tas'e  mighty  good 
when  you  been  dry  long  time,"  he  said.  This 

13 


194 


reflection  induced  him  to  take  another  pull 
at  the  jug.  Just  then  there  was  a  sound  as 
of  some  one  climbing  at  the  top  of  the  chim 
ney.  "  Hi !  what  dat  ?"  muttered  the  old  fel 
low,  lowering  his  jug.  His  eye  fell  on  his 
cat,  and  he  stretched  out  his  leg  and  stirred 
him  up.  "  Heah,  wake  up,  Tormy !"  he  said. 
"  Nem  mind ;  I  gwine  git  mistis  for  you,  and 
ef  she  don'  treat  you  well,  I  gwine  gi'  her 
hickory." 

The  anticipation  pleased  the  old  fellow  so 
much  that  he  resorted  again  to  his  jug,  and 
under  its  reviving  influence  be  began  to  sing 
a  snatch  from  a  corn-shucking  song : 

"I  went  down  to  Helltown, 
Found  de  deble  chained  down, 

Oh,  Loo  John  !  oh,  Loo  ! 
I  hitch'  him  to  my  horse-cart, 
And  put  him  in  a  long  trot, 

Oh,  Loo  John  !  oh,  Loo  !" 

Just  then  a  large  brown  rat  floated  down 
the  chimney,  and  dropped  close  to  Torm,  who 
pounced  upon  it,  but  the  next  instant  settled 
back  to  his  nap.  The  rat  caught  the  old  man's 
eye,  and  he  kicked  the  cat  up  again. 

"  Don't  you  see  dat  rat,  fool  ?"  he  said.    But 


195 


Torm  was  not  interested.  He  never  looked, 
and  simply  turned  over  on  his  other  side. 

"  "Well,  dat's  de  curisoraest  thing  I  ever 
see,"  said  Isaac.  "  Dat's  a  rat,  sho' !  but  I 
'ain'  never  see  Torray  do  dat  away  befo'.  I's 
gwine  to  see  ef  dat's  a  rat."  He  took  up  his 
stick  and  leaned  forward.  But  as  he  struck 
at  it  the  rat  disappeared  up  the  chimney, 
and  losing  his  balance,  he  fell  forward  on  his 
face. 

"  Well,  befo'  de  King !"  he  exclaimed,  pick 
ing  himself  up.  Just  then  the  rat  appeared 
again,  swinging  gently  to  and  fro.  "  Dat  rat 
look  might'ly  to  me  like  he  was  flyin',"  said 
Isaac,  picking  up  the  jug.  Just  then  there 
was  a  spit  of  blue  flame  in  the  ashes,  and 
Torm  jumped  to  his  feet.  "  Heah,  le'  me  put 
dis  thing  down,"  said  the  old  man.  A  noise 
on  top  of  the  chimney  caught  his  ear.  He 
started.  "  What  dat  ?  I  done  heah  'bout 
folks  comin'  down  chimbley  Christmas,  but  I 
'ain'  never  liked  it.  Master,  please  don'  come 
down  heah,"  he  called,  in  supplication,  and 
began  to  chant  a  hymn  as  a  sort  of  spell 
against  the  possible  visitation.  Just  then  the 
rat  appeared  again,  and  after  hovering  a  few 


196 

moments  above  the  embers,  lit  close  to  the 
once  more  drowsy  Torm.  It  was  rather  blacker 
than  it  had  been,  as  if  there  were  something 
like  a  black  powder  on  its  back.  "  I's  gwine 
to  see  ef  dat's  a  rat  or  a  evil  sperit,"  said 
Isaac,  re -emboldened  by  his  religious  exer 
cise.  He  leaned  over  and  picked  up  from  the 
corner  a  half -extinguished  chunk,  and  bent 
towards  the  rat.  As  he  did  so  he  tipped  the 
jug  over.  "  Ef  you's  a  rat,  I'll  know  you,"  he 
said,  grimly.  He  put  the  chunk  on  its  back. 
The  rat  burst  into  blue  sputtering  flames, 
which  danced  up  and  down  its  back  and 
sides,  jumped  into  the  ashes,  and  ran  in  zig 
zag  lines  about  the  hearth,  until  they  reached 
the  mouth  of  the  overturned  jug,  when  they 
wound  up  in  a  dazzling  burst  of  flame,  which 
threw  coals  and  ashes  all  over  the  hearth. 

Two  seconds  later  Uncle  Isaac  had  smashed 
out  of  his  door,  with  his  cat  close  behind  him, 
every  hair  on  its  body  which  had  not  been 
singed  off  standing  erect,  and  the  rusty  plough- 
point  clattering  along  like  a  pursuing  demon. 
He  burst  into  the  circle  of  revellers  about  the 
kitchen  door  like  a  wild  man,  swearing  that 
the  devil  was  after  him. 


197 

The  upshot  of  it  all  was  that  Rachel  mar 
ried  Dick  next  night,  in  the  gown  which  had 
been  given  her  to  wed  Isaac,  and  giggled  just 
as  happily.  Most  people  thought  at  first  that 
Isaac  had  delirium  tremens,  but  he  always 
maintained  that  he  saw  the  devil  himself, 
and  gave  so  circumstantial  a  description  of 
him  that  it  was  quite  convincing,  and  brought 
him  so  much  renewed  credit  that  Molly  shortly 
afterwards  married  him,  and,  be  it  said,  duly 
got  the  physic  that  he  had  prepared  for  Eachel. 


JOHN'S  WEDDING    SUIT 

JOHN  was  a  curious  sort  of  fellow.  He  was 
one  of  the  quietest-tempered  men  I  ever  knew ; 
he  had  also  more  sentiment  than  most.  When 
he  was  a  boy  his  room  was  always  littered  up 
with  what  the  other  boys  called  "  trash  "  :  odds 
and  ends,  broken  whips,  tops,  knives,  kites,  dried 
grass,  pressed  flowers,  etc.,  which  no  other  boy 
cared  about,  but  which  were  precious  in  John's 
eyes  because  they  were  associated  with  some 
thing  which  had  given  them  a  value  to  him. 
This  top  had  been  made  by  his  father;  this  old 
knife  had  been  won  as  a  prize  for  going  to  a 
graveyard  after  dark ;  that  book-mark  was  his 
little  sister's  first  piece  of  embroidery,  etc.  He 
would  stand  an  amount  of  teasing  and  chaffing 
which  would  have  set  any  of  the  other  boys  at 
war ;  and  then  suddenly,  when  some  little  right 
had  been  invaded  or  some  sentiment  jarred, 
he  would  be  a  perfect  fury.  The  other  boys 
learned  to  know  the  signs,  and  would  impose 


199 

on  him  to  a  certain  extent,  but  when  his  face 
began  to  grow  pale  and  his  hands  to  tremble, 
they  stopped. 

In  time  John  became  a  doctor,  and  returned 
from  college  to  practise  medicine  in  his  native 
town.  He  had  a  genius  for  physic,  and  his  pro 
fessors  had  urged  him  to  go  straight  to  a  city  ; 
but  he  declined,  and  with  his  diplomas  and 
prize  cases  of  instruments  went  back  to  his 
Httle  village,  where  he  soon  was  practising  on 
all  the  poor  people  and  little  girls'  dogs  in  the 
place.  Possibly  the  fact  that  his  sweetheart, 
a  pretty  girl  with  whom  he  had  been  in  love 
since  his  boyhood,  lived  there  was  one  of  the 
causes  which  brought  him  back.  Anyhow, 
there  he  was,  and  when  he  was  not  at  some 
sick-bed,  or  working  over  some  lame  beast,  he 
was  apt  to  be  on  the  vine-covered  veranda  of 
her  house  or  in  its  little  plain  parlor.  If  he 
was  not  at  any  of  these  places,  he  was  sure  to 
be  poring  over  a  book  in  his  little  office  or 
playing  with  some  child.  None  of  these  oc 
cupations,  however,  is  very  remunerative,  and 
John  was  much  busier  than  he  was  rich.  Such 
a  man  is  sure  to  be  imposed  on,  and  John  was 
better  liked  than  paid.  If  he  ever  collected  a 


200 


bill,  the  money  went  either  to  buy  physic  for 
some  patient  who  could  not  afford  it,  or  to  get 
new  books  or  new  instruments.  Thus  John's 
library  and  instrument-case  were  a  good  deal 
better  furnished  than  his  wardrobe.  He  lived 
in  a  little  room  back  of  his  office  down  on  the 
principal  street  of  the  village,  and  was  waited 
on  by  a  boy  whose  only  recommendation  was 
that  he  was  the  son  of  one  of  John's  father's 
old  servants.  A  more  worthless  rascal  could 
not  be  imagined — at  least,  such  was  the  general 
opinion  of  John's  friends.  But  John  held  on 
to  him.  They  were  about  the  same  age,  and 
had  played  together  as  boys,  and  this  was 
sufficient.  Cal  (short  for  Caldicut)  was  a  strap 
ping  young  fellow  about  John's  size,  on  which 
he  prided  himself,  and  of  a  dark  gingerbread 
color.  He  was  a  bully,  much  feared  among 
his  set,  who  knew  his  strength,  and  the  quick 
ness  with  which  he  could  whip  out  a  razor  as 
soon  as  he  began  to  be  worsted ;  a  liar  noted 
around  town,  and  a  thief,  most  people  believed 
— some  on  general  principles,  others  on  more 
specific  grounds.  Few,  however,  ventured  to 
suggest  this  to  John,  who  was  a  fool  about 
Cal,  as  many  thought  and  some  said.  When 


201 

Cal  was  put  in  jail  for  cutting  another  darky 
at  a  dance,  John  used  his  utmost  endeavors  to 
get  him  off,  and  did  succeed  in  getting  him  a 
very  light  punishment.  He  took  him  back  as 
soon  as  he  was  out.  Cal  used  to  carry  his  notes 
to  his  sweetheart  and  wear  his  old  clothes, 
which  was  pretty  much  all  he  did,  for  John's 
rooms  were  sadly  neglected. 

At  length  even  John's  mind  waked  up  to 
this  fact,  and  as  Cal  declared  that  he  cleaned 
up  every  day,  he  set  a  trap  for  him,  placing 
several  papers  on  certain  spots.  There  they 
were  next  day ;  but  Cal,  when  reprimanded, 
explained  that  he  dusted  everything  every 
night,  but  always  put  everything  back  just 
where  he  found  it. 

At  length  John's  suit  with  his  sweetheart 
prevailed,  and  she  rewarded  his  years  of  con 
stancy  by  finally  "fixing  the  day."  She  had, 
in  fact,  always  been  in  love  with  him,  and  had 
only  waited  so  long  because  she  knew  she 
could  marry  him  whenever  she  chose ;  and  the 
torture  she  had  inflicted  on  her  lover  was  a 
species  of  cruelty  which  all  her  sex  enjoy  and, 
as  many  as  dare,  practise. 

The  town  rejoiced  in   John's  success  and 


202 

joined  in  his  happiness.  He  had  the  counsel 
of  several  of  his  friends  as  to  his  arrangements 
and  outfit ;  for,  as  they  said,  unless  some  one 
looked  after  him,  he  would  very  probably  for 
get  his  wedding-ring,  if  he  did  not  forget  his 
wedding  -  day,  and  be  found,  at  the  hour  ap 
pointed  for  the  ceremony,  either  gathering 
wild-flowers  somewhere  for  his  sweetheart,  or 
setting  off  for  a  ten-mile  drive  to  see  some  old 
woman  who  wanted  him  to  cure  her  cat.  A 
pretty  little  house  had  been  secured,  with  more 
room  outside  on  the  vine-covered  veranda  than 
within  its  walls,  and  it  was  fitted  up  with  what 
little  the  two  young  people  could  get  together. 
John  went  to  the  city  at  least  a  month  ahead 
of  time  to  get  his  wedding-suit.  It  was  his 
first  full  evening  suit,  and  he  felt  about  it  as  a 
girl  must  feel  about  her  first  ball  dress.  He 
undid  the  parcel  with  his  door  locked,  and  a 
feeling  as  if  it  were  a  sacred  relic ;  then  tried 
it  on  gravely,  and  looked  at  himself  solemnly. 
It  fitted  him  exactly,  and  set  off  his  strong 
figure  well.  But  he  did  not  think  of  this ;  he 
thought  only  of  her.  He  took  it  off,  and,  fold 
ing  it  up  again  in  the  wrapping  of  tissue-paper, 
placed  it  in  the  box,  and  laid  it  away  rever- 


"HE    LOOKED    AT    HIMSELF    SOLEMNLY" 


203 

ently  in  his  wardrobe,  one  side  of  which  he 
cleared  for  its  more  fitting  reception.  He 
would  wear  it  first  when  he  claimed  her  for 
his  wife.  It  was  sacred  in  his  eyes.  Every 
day  or  two  he  locked  his  door,  and,  taking 
the  suit  out  tenderly,  laid  it  out  and  looked 
at  it,  but  never  put  it  on  again,  thinking  to 
do  her  greater  honor  by  wearing  it  first  at  her 
wedding,  and  dreaming  dimly  of  laying  it 
away  afterwards  in  lavender  and  rose  leaves. 

The  day  before  the  wedding  he  set  aside  to 
clean  up  and  settle  his  matters,  which  he  had 
been  delayed  in  doing  by  several  very  ill  pa 
tients.  They  were  still  ill,  so  he  set  Cal  to 
work  and  went  off  to  see  them.  On  his  re 
turn  he  found  little  done  and  Cal  absent.  In  a 
short  while,  however,  Cal  appeared.  He  would 
have  met  with  a  warm  reception,  but  he  pre 
vented  it  by  assuming  a  very  mournful  look. 
He  spoke  before  John  could  say  anything. 

"Mr.  Johnny" — he  always  used  that  term 
when  he  wanted  to  gain  anything ;  it  recalled 
old  associations — "  Mr.  Johnny,"  he  said,  "  I's 
had  a  mighty  bad  piece  of  luck  hit  me."  He 
waited,  and  John  looked  at  him.  "  I's  done 
lost  meh  grandmother." 


204 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  lost  your  grandmother 
two  months  ago !"  said  John.  "  You  buried 
her,  anyhow." 

"Yes,  suh.  But  this  is  my  other  grand 
mother." 

John's  face  assumed  a  reminiscent  expression. 
"  Why,  you  lost  one  last  winter  too,"  he  said, 
"  and  one—  This  is  the  fourth  grandmother 
you  have  lost,  to  my  certain  knowledge." 

"  Yes,  suh,  dat's  so.  Dat  ole  man  marry 
mo'n  any  other  man  I  uver  see  in  de  wull," 
said  Cal,  reprobatingly.  "  She  die'  las'  night, 
an'  de  funeral  conies  off  dis  evenin' ;  an'  I 
thought  I'd  ax  you  to  let  me  off  dis  evenin'  to 
go  to  it." 

He  had  spoken  so  rapidly  that  John  had  not 
had  time  to  put  in  a  question.  He  put  one 
now,  however.  "  When  did  she  die  ?" 

«  Oh !— She  died  las'  night." 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  her?" 

"  Suh  ?" 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  her  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  know,  suh." 

"  Why  didn't  you  send  for  me,  or  mention  it 
before?" 

"Well,  you  see,  suh,  she  wuz  tooken  kind 


205 

o'  sudden,  jes  las'  night,  an'  jes  went  right 
off,  so." 

"  They  are  burying  her  in  a  great  hurry," 
said  John. 

"  Yes,  suh ;  looks  so  to  me  too,"  said  Cal, 
sympathetically.  "  I  specks  dat  ole  man  '11  be 
marryin'  agin  befo'  de  week's  out.  He  didn' 
wait  but  two  weeks  las'  time ;  I  know  he  won't 
wait  mo'n  a  week  dis  time."  He  looked  the 
image  of  reprobation. 

John  told  him  he  was  afraid  there  would 
not  be  much  of  an  attendance  at  the  funeral, 
as  he  had  heard  from  one  of  his  patients  that 
there  was  to  be  a  big  negro  ball  that  night  at 
their  hall.  Cal  mournfully  admitted  that  such 
was  his  fear  too. 

John  let  him  go,  and,  taking  off  his  coat,  set 
to  work  himself. 

That  night  a  couple  of  John's  most  intimate 
friends  dropped  in  just  to  see  if  he  were  all 
right,  and  had  all  his  arrangements  made. 
They  found  everything  ready.  One  of  them 
was  growling  about  his  servant  having  gone  off 
to  a  negro  ball  and  left  his  room  in  disorder. 

"How  about  your  wedding  -  suit  ?  Is  that 
all  right  ?  Does  it  fit  ?"  they  asked. 


206 


John  said  it  was  all  right,  and  fitted  perfect 
ly.  They  urged  him  to  let  them  see  it,  and 
finally,  after  much  persuasion,  he  consented. 
He  went  to  his  wardrobe,  and  took  out  the 
box  with  a  warm  feeling  about  his  heart,  laid 
it  tenderly  on  the  bed,  and  gently  opened  it. 
It  was  empty. 

Had  his  friends  known  the  history  of  the 
suit,  they  would  have  understood  his  action 
better.  For  a  moment  John  stood  perfect 
ly  still,  with  a  mystified  look  on  his  face ; 
then  he  turned  slowly  to  the  wardrobe  and 
looked  through  it ;  then  he  turned  back  to 
the  empty  box  and  stood  over  it.  The  next 
moment  a  string  of  unquotable  words  streamed 
from  his  lips.  He  wheeled  suddenly,  grabbed 
up  his  hat,  seized  a  large  stick  from  a  corner 
and  bolted  out  of  the  door. 

Five  minutes  later  a  man  was  posted  in  the 
shadow  of  a  tree  just  outside  of  the  light  of  a 
gas  lamp,  a  half-square  from  the  lighted  hall 
in  which  the  negro  ball  was  now  going  on,  and 
close  to  the  sidewalk  along  which  were  begin 
ning  to  stream  the  sable  attendants  of  the  fes 
tivity.  Couple  after  couple  passed  him,  but 
the  man  stood  in  the  shadow  as  motionless  as 


207 

the  tree  against  which  he  was  planted.  A 
half-hour  passed ;  the  crowd  was  already  in, 
and  only  an  occasional  pair  came  by  now ; 
still  he  did  not  budge.  At  last,  a  couple  came 
strolling  along,  chatting  to  each  other,  and 
for  the  first  time  the  shadow  stirred.  The 
voices  could  be  heard  distinctly.  The  man 
was  talking. 

"  He  couldn't  git  'long  at  all  widout  me.  I 
len's  him  my  clo'es.  I's  gwine  to  len'  him  dis 
suit  to  git  married  in  to-morrer." 

The  girl  laughed  affectedly.  "  Oh,  shoo, 
Mr.  Johnsing,  you's  jes  foolin'  me !" 

"No,  I  ain't;  I  declare  I  ain't.  Ef  I  is,  I 
hope  de  debble  may  rise  right  by  dat  tree 
an'—" 

He  rose.  The  couple  were  right  in  the  full 
glare  of  the  lamp,  Cal  in  a  brand-new  evening 
suit.  When  John  stepped  out,  Cal  could  not 
have  been  more  startled  had  his  wish  been  lit 
erally  fulfilled.  He  dropped  the  girl's  arm 
and  staggered  back.  Then  he  tried  to  recover 
himself.  He  stepped  forward  again. 

"  Mr.  Johnny,  jes  le'  me  speak  to  you  a  min 
ute,  will  you  ?  Jes  step  over  dis  a-way  a  min 
ute,  won't  you  ?" 


"  Take  them  off,"  said  John.  His  voice  was 
perfectly  quiet. 

"  Mr.  Johnny,  jes— 

"  Take  them  off,"  said  John. 

"Whar,  Mr.  Johnny?" 

"Right  where  you  stand,"  said  John.  He 
stepped  a  step  nearer,  and  the  light  fell  more 
fully  on  his  face.  His  hickory  stick  was  in 
his  hand,  which  was  squeezed  tight  around 
it  till  it  looked  knotty  and  white.  His  eyes 
burned  like  live  coals.  "  I'll  give  you  one 
minute." 

"Yes,  suh,"  said  Cal,  and  began  to  hustle 
out  of  the  clothes. 

A  dozen  negroes  had  congregated,  but  nei 
ther  John  nor  Cal  took  any  more  notice  of 
them  than  if  they  had  been  in  a  desert. 

"Now  walk  before  me,"  said  John.  And 
Cal,  with  the  clothes  over  his  arm,  walked 
back  up  the  street  before  John  as  if  he  felt 
the  crust  of  the  earth  breaking  beneath  him. 

Cal  came  out  of  John's  door  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  later.  John  had  not  committed  murder, 
but  Cal  knew  he  had  had  a  narrow  escape. 


WHEN  THE  COLONEL  WAS  A  DUELLIST 

THE  question  of  duelling  was  up,  and  had 
been  discussed.  Most  of  the  group  were 
young  men.  Some  approved  the  code ;  others 
were  doubtful.  The  Colonel  alone  had  not 
participated  in  it ;  he  had  sat  through  it 
all  calmly  smoking  his  pipe,  with  his  head 
thrown  back  against  the  wall,  and  his  eyes 
lazily  turning  from  one  speaker  to  another  as 
the  talk  proceeded.  Finally  some  one  said, 
"  Colonel,  you  have  had  a  duel,  of  course  ?" 

"  Once."  He  put  his  pipe  back  into  his 
mouth,  and  went  on  smoking  again  as  before. 

"  Tell  us  about  it,"  they  said ;  for  the  Colo 
nel  was  a  man  of  wide  experience,  and  of  ap 
proved  courage  in  the  war.  The  Colonel's 
eyes  turned  up  to  the  ceiling,  and  stayed  so 
for  some  time,  while  his  face  took  on  a  remi 
niscent  expression,  and  when  his  eyes  dropped 
again  there  was  a  look  of  amusement  in  them. 
He  waited  at  least  two  minutes,  then  took  his 

14 


210 


pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  emitted  a  cloud  which 
would  have  almost  concealed  a  mountain-top. 
"  Well,  when  I  was  as  young  and  almost 
as  big  a  fool  as  some  of  you  are,"  he  said,  "  I 
thought,  like  you,  duelling  was  a  fine  thing. 
I  had  read  a  great  deal  about  it,  and  talked 
more.  I  considered  the  code  the  proper  re 
course  of  a  gentleman,  and  I  so  declared  my 
self  frequently.  This  did  not  prevent  me 
from  being  disagreeable  enough  in  other  ways 
to  get  into  a  number  of  collisions,  in  which,  as 
I  was  a  strapping  young  fellow  at  the  time,  I 
was  generally  victorious.  I  was  then  practis 
ing  law  in  the  little  county  town  where  I 
started,  and  I  deemed  myself  easily  the  great 
est  lawyer  in  the  circuit,  if  not  in  the  State. 
It  was  necessary  to  be  aggressive,  I  thought. 
I  had  taken  Lord  Thurlow  as  my  model,  and 
I  fancied  myself  like  him.  There  were  only 
two  things  that  stood  in  my  way :  there  was 
an  older  lawyer  there  who  always  treated  me 
as  if  I  were  about  three  years  old,  and  the 
people  rather  seemed  to  lean  naturally  to  him. 
I  never  went  into  court  with  him  that  he  did 
not  make  me  feel  like  a  fool.  I  could  not 
pick  a  quarrel  with  him  and  beat  him,  be- 


211 

cause  he  was  always  most  polite  when  he  was 
most  insulting,  and,  besides,  he  had  only  one 
arm,  having  lost  the  other,  I  had  heard,  in  a 
wheat -machine.  I  thought  he  rather  took 
advantage  of  it,  and  I  used  to  writhe  under 
his  polished  sarcasm,  and  lie  awake  at  night 
cursing  him.  At  last  I  could  stand  it  no  long 
er;  and  once,  when  he  had  gone  too  far  for 
me  to  endure  it,  I  consulted  friends.  I  select 
ed  two  young  fellows  in  the  village  as  my  ad 
visers  :  one,  a  young  lawyer ;  the  other  had 
no  profession — he  was  one  of  the  best  fellows 
in  the  world,  but  did  nothing  but  drink  whis 
key.  However,  he  was  sober  at  that  time,  and 
as  he  was  a  great  authority  on  the  code,  I  felt 
that  he  would  keep  sober  while  the  responsi 
bility  was  upon  him.  I  consulted  them  as  my 
friends,  and  they  advised  me.  The  only  thing 
as  to  which  we  differed  was  whether  I  should 
give  my  adversary  an  opportunity  to  retract. 
I  maintained  that  the  code  required  it ;  they 
disagreed  with  me  about  it.  They  were  so  in 
dignant  with  him  that  they  had  taken  up  the 
notion  that  he  was  really  a  coward,  and  that  I 
could  unmask  him.  They  seemed  to  me  to  be 
really  blood-thirsty.  I  might  have  overcome 


212 


their  arguments  if  I  had  not  been  afraid  of 
being  thought  a  coward.  Besides,  I  was  rath 
er  in  love  with  a  pretty  girl  in  the  place,  and  I 
believed  that  a  duel  would  make  something  of 
a  hero  of  me,  and  help  my  cause.  (Tf  there 
were  no  women  and  no  fools,  there'd  be  no 
duels,  gentlemen.)"  After  this  parenthesis  the 
Colonel  proceeded :  "  Anyhow,  they  stood  out 
and  had  their  way,  and  a  peremptory  chal 
lenge  was  written,  and  intrusted  to  Jim  Bur 
ton.  It  had  all  the  vigor  and  venom  in  it  that 
Jim  and  Lindman  could  distil.  I  thought  it 
too  bitter;  but  Lindman  was  a  lawyer,  and  a 
challenge  was  a  felony,  anyhow.  It  was  one 
of  the  coldest  spells  I  ever  remember;  the 
snow  was  about  a  foot  deep,  and  had  frozen 
hard  on  top;  and  I  well  recollect  how  we 
gathered  around  Lindman's  office  fire  whilst 
we  waited  for  the  reply  to  my  cartel.  I  was 
afraid  to  go  home,  for  we  knew  the  row  and 
my  intention  to  send  the  challenge  had  got 
out,  and  the  sheriff  and  his  deputy  would  be 
after  us.  We  barricaded  the  door,  and  pulled 
down  the  old  blinds  at  the  shutterless  win 
dows.  Jim  stayed  so  long  that  finally  we  were 
about  to  send  Lindman  out  to  look  for  him, 


213 


when  he  gave  the  three  taps  agreed  on  at  the 
window.  He  was  let  in,  and  after  warming 
up  a  bit,  told  his  story.  He  had  had  much 
difficulty  in  finding  Facton  —  Facton  was  his 
name,  I  forgot  to  say  —  but  had  finally  found 
him,  and  had  presented  the  challenge.  Facton 
had  read  it  first  with  amusement,  Jim  thought  ; 
then  with  anger,  or  fear  —  he  could  not  tell 
which.  '  Fear,  without  doubt,'  we  both  decided. 
I  thought  of  my  girl.  Then  he  had  said  he 
would  send  for  some  one  and  lay  the  mat 
ter  before  him,  and  had  told  Jim  he  would 
let  us  hear  from  him  in  the  course  of  a  few 
hours. 

"  '  Did  you  tell  him  where  to  send  ?'  we 
asked  Jim. 

"  '  Of  course,'  he  said.  '  I  told  him  we  would 
sit  here  all  night.' 

"  '  That's  right,'  we  agreed. 

"  '  And  he  as  good  as  kicked  me  out  of  his 
house,  sir,'  said  Jim. 

"  '  What  !'  We  were  overwhelmed  at  this 
breach  of  decorum,  and  Jim  had  to  specify. 
'  Of  course  he  did  not  lay  his  hand  on  me, 
but  he  rang  the  bell,  and  told  that  black 
butler  of  his  to  show  me  the  door.'  This 


214 

did  look  like  it ;  and  Jim,  who  was  rather 
talkative,  declared  that  for  a  little  he  would 
call  him  out  himself. 

"  '  Jim,  whom  did  he  say  he  would  send 
for  ?'  we  asked. 

" '  I  did  not  catch  the  name  exactly,  but  it 
sounded  like  "  Drace  " ;  it  could  not  have  been 
him,  though ;  he's  the  sheriff !' 

"'Drace!  Are  you  sure  it  was  Drace? 
There's  only  one  Drace  in  the  county,  and 
that's  the  sheriff!'  Jim's  memory  was  re 
freshed  by  our  repetition  of  the  name,  and 
he  was  positive  it  was  Drace.  Here  was  a 
bomb-shell.  The  wThole  plot  burst  on  us.  He 
was  going  to  send  for  the  sheriff  and  have  us 
arrested,  and  then  get  the  credit  of  being  the 
only  one  out.  It  was  diabolical.  '  Why  in  the 
mischief  did  you  tell  him  where  we  were?' 
we  asked ;  which  made  Jim  rather  sulky,  and 
he  said  truly  that  we  had  just  praised  him  for 
doing  that  very  thing,  and  said  something 
further  about  our  being  a  couple  of  fools. 
As  he  was  necessary  to  us,  and  had  done  the 
best  he  could,  we  had  to  mollify  him,  which 
was  not  hard  to  do.  Still,  there  was  the  ques 
tion  of  arrest  to  be  considered.  To  be  the 


215 


first  arrested  in  a  duel  was  a  crying  disgrace. 
It  was  decided  to  send  Lindman  out  to  recon 
noitre.  He  had  not  been  gone  long  when  he 
came  rushing  back,  and  began  to  barricade 
the  door  faster  than  ever.  He  had  run  upon 
the  sheriff  himself  coming  out  of  old  Facton's 
yard,  and  the  sheriff  had  attempted  to  arrest 
him :  *  But  I  knocked  him  down,'  said  he, 
triumphantly.  This  was  a  new  complication. 
The  sheriff  was  already  the  friend  and  creature 
of  old  Facton,  who  was  the  commonwealth's 
attorney,  and  now  to  have  knocked  him  down 
would  make  him  all  the  more  bitter  against  us. 
Jim  changed  the  current  of  our  thoughts  sud 
denly  by  saying  :  '  Suppose  old  Facton  should 
choose  shot-guns  and  buckshot  ?  He's  one  of 
the  best  shots  with  a  shot-gun  in  the  world, 
one-armed  or  no  one-armed.'  I  had  not 
thought  of  this,  and  I  was  conscious  of  a  sud 
den  and  unexplained  catching  of  my  breath 
which  left  a  little  taste  in  my  mouth.  Then 
I  thought  of  my  girl  again.  I  asked  Jim  how 
the  Colonel  lost  his  arm.  He  said  in  the  Mex 
ican  war;  and  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  was 
conscious  again  of  that  same  sinking  sensation 
and  taste.  However,  we  did  not  have  much 


216 

time  to  consider,  for  just  then  we  heard  the 
'cranch'  of  approaching  footsteps  through 
the  frozen  snow,  and  the  next  moment  there 
came  a  thundering  knock  at  the  door,  and 
the  sheriff  was  demanding  admittance.  I  was 
sensible  of  something  not  unlike  a  feeling  of  re 
lief,  at  which  I  was  rather  ashamed,  but  Lind- 
man  seemed  to  be  in  a  frenzy  of  excitement. 
He  sprang  up  and  seized  a  heavy  desk.  The 
sheriff  and  his  posse  (for  there  were  several 
in  the  party,  as  we  could  tell  from  their 
voices),  finding  the  door  locked,  dashed  against 
it,  and  it  creaked  and  cracked,  and  seemed 
about  to  give  way,  when  Lindman  got  his  desk 
against  it  and  flung  himself  on  top  of  it.  '  Get 
out  of  the  window,'  he  whispered;  'hurry; 
go  to  Kice's  loft.  I'll  hold  it.  I'll  keep  the 
scoundrels  out.'  I,  of  course,  had  to  appear  to 
be  trying  to  get  away,  so  I  began  to  fumble 
at  the  window,  and  would  have  found  a  rea 
sonable  excuse  in  its  tight  sash,  if  Jim  had  not 
solved  the  difficulty  by  kicking  the  window 
out,  sash  and  all.  There  was  nothing  for 
me  to  do  then  but  to  climb  out.  But,  Jeru 
salem  !  how  cold  it  was !  I  thought  the  wind 
would  split  me.  I  was  about  to  climb  back, 


217 

when  Jim  pushed  me  out.  (They  were  the 
most  eager  seconds  I  ever  saw.)  I  told  them 
I  could  not  go  out  in  that  wind  without  a  hat 
and  overcoat.  They  flung  me  a  hat,  and  asked 
where  my  overcoat  was.  I  was  looking  around 
with  one  eye  for  the  coat  and  the  other  on 
the  door,  hoping  it  might  give  way,  which  it 
threatened  to  do  every  minute,  when  it  did 
give  way  with  a  smash,  and  the  sheriff  came 
in  head-foremost  through  the  split.  Lindman 
flung  himself  on  him  like  a  tiger,  shouting  to 
me  to  run  —  he'd  hold  him  —  and  Jim  gave 
me  a  shove,  so  there  was  nothing  else  to  do, 
and  I  got  out.  It  was  as  cold  as  Christmas, 
and  as  I  ran  across  the  lots  to  Rice's  stable  I 
thought  the  wind  would  cut  me  in  two.  Jim 
followed,  and  we  climbed  up  into  the  loft  in 
the  hay.  At  first  I  was  sensible  of  relief  at 
getting  out  of  that  biting  wind,  but  after  a 
little  I  began  to  freeze  again.  I  asked  Jim  if 
he  thought  he  could  get  any  whiskey.  He 
said  not,  and  began  to  preach  on  temperance 
in  general,  and  especially  on  the  necessity  of 
sobriety  in  a  duellist.  I  said,  *  Jim,  you  talk 
as  if  you  were  drunk  now.'  He  was  so  much 
offended  at  this  that  I  apologized.  I  bur- 


218 

rowed  down  into  the  hay,  but  to  no  purpose. 
Jim  was  better  off  than  I,  for  he  had  an  over 
coat.  The  idea  that  whiskey  would  keep  me 
from  freezing  seemed  to  take  possession  of  me, 
and  I  began  to  think  about  it  all  the  time. 
Presently  I  actually  began  to  smell  it.  This 
rather  scared  me,  for  I  thought  I  must  be 
freezing  to  death.  My  feet  were  already  numb. 
Jim,  who  had  at  first  been  very  voluble,  had 
become  less  and  less  so,  and  now  only  answered 
from  his  hole  in  the  hay  in  grunts,  or  not  at 
all.  How  long  we  were  there  I  don't  know, 
but  presently  I  could  get  no  answer  from  Jim. 
The  idea  seized  me  that  he  must  be  freezing 
to  death.  This,  with  the  delusion  about  the 
smell  of  whiskey,  aroused  me,  and  after  call 
ing  him  again  and  again  and  getting  no  re 
sponse,  I  crawled  over  to  him  through  the 
dark,  and  put  my  hand  on  him.  The  first 
thing  I  struck  was  a  whiskey-bottle.  It  was 
empty.  Jim  had  been  lying  up  there  with 
that  bottle  until  he  was  dead-drunk.  "Well, 
I  was  mad.  I  had  a  great  mind  to  leave  him 
there,  but  I  was  afraid  he  would  freeze  to 
death.  My  other  second  I  knew  was  arrest 
ed.  So  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  go 


219 


in.  I  crawled  out  and  took  a  survey.  Not  a 
light  was  to  be  seen.  I  was  afraid  to  arouse 
any  one,  so  I  had  to  get  Jim  down  out  of  the 
loft  and  back  to  Lindman's  office  by  myself. 
He  came  down  the  ladder  easily  enough — too 
easily.  I  was  afraid  he  had  broken  his  neck. 
Did  any  of  you  ever  try  to  carry  a  hundred 
and  sixty  pounds  of  limp  humanity  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  through  a  twelve-inch  snow  ?  Well, 
if  you  have  not,  don't  try  it.  Next  time  I'll 
let  him  freeze,  if  he  is  George  Washington. 

"  When  I  got  into  Lindman's  office  the  fire 
was  out,  and  the  door  and  window"  looked  as 
if  a  cyclone  had  struck  them.  There  were 
splinters  enough,  however,  lying  around  to 
make  a  fire,  and  I  utilized  them.  I  soon  fried 
Jim  out  enough  to  find  he  was  alive  ;  and  I 
never  knew  just  how  it  happened,  but  the  next 
thing  I  knew  the  sheriff  was  standing  by  Lind 
man's  bed,  and  I  was  in  it.  He  had  one  eye 
in  a  poultice,  and  his  temper  and  nose  needed 
one  too ;  but,  bad  as  they  were,  they  were  not 
as  bad  as  Lindman's.  Lindman  had  spent  the 
night  in  the  jail  parlor,  after  one  of  the  most 
heroical  fights  ever  put  up  in  the  county. 
When  he  found  that  I  had  slept  in  his  bed  it 


220 


capped  the  climax.  It  came  near  bringing 
on  another  duel,  and  would  have  done  so  if  he 
could  have  got  anybody  to  take  his  challenge 
that  morning.  As  it  was,  we  were  all  bound 
over  to  keep  the  peace,  and  Facton  went  on 
our  bond,  after  making  a  handsome  apology 
to  me,  and  doing  all  he  could  to  shield  us 
from  the  public  ridicule  which  threatened  to 
overwhelm  us.  Lindman  became  his  partner 
afterwards,  and  I  married  his  daughter.  That 
was  my  only  duel." 

The  Colonel  stopped,  and  began  to  reach 
for  a  match. 

"  What  became  of  your  old  sweetheart,  Colo 
nel,  for  whom  you  fought  ?" 

"  She  married  a  Methodist  preacher,  and 
went  as  a  missionary  to  China,"  said  the  Colo 
nel. 


THE   END 


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JUL    171933 

DEC  281937 


JAN  18  I94i 
APR  20  1942  E 

22Apr'60ER 


RPR  2  7  197539 
RECCIRC  FEBjO  1986 

1 0  1983 


AU?OD!SCAUG26'90 
1  4  2003 


U5 

JAW  8?  S61 


FEB   81986 


MN 


LD  21-50m.l,'33 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


438921 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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